VK
by otherhawk
Summary: Sometimes endings last a very long time. No one promised happily ever after. And just because Danny would do anything doesn't mean that he can. Warnings for extreme violence and angst.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Ocean's 11. And no one would want me to.**

**Warning: There is graphic violence, extreme angst and adult themes and we - that is myself and InSilva - would like to say that writing and reading this respectively broke us. This is rated M for a reason, okay?  
**

**A/N: This story was written late last year and it's taken me this long to make up my mind to definitely post it. It took six weeks to write, during which I did nothing else except scream, mostly to InSilva who was patient and understanding and wonderful and traumatised. And the point is, this story is dark. It's long and it's dark and it's awful and there is nothing happy in there whatsoever. And I am so sorry.  
**

* * *

Tess wished that Rusty had just died.

She never said it out loud. In fact, he suspected that she never even _thought_ it anywhere he might hear. Just like she tried so hard not to remind him that there'd been a choice; that there'd been a lot of choices, and somewhere along the roads less travelled, they'd lost their way, and it might have been a kindness if it had ended in blood and pain and tears.

She blamed him. She blamed Rusty. She blamed herself.

And Danny couldn't look at her anymore, and every single time he tried he became some other man. Some smiling, happy, empty fool, who could meet her eyes but all he could _say_ was that everything was going to be all right. He _promised_.

And he could understand the wishing. Even . . . No.

Because sometimes he'd go to the hospital, or rehabilitation centre, or whatever they wanted to call that prison, and he'd see the blankness, and the dullness, and the drool as one of those gorillas who called themselves nurses spoonfed the shell that once upon a time had danced with him, across the stars, and how did he keep from crying? How did he keep from screaming with it, every second of every day?

And they called that a good day, and Danny would go home to Tess, and as they sat and didn't eat dinner, and didn't look at each other, Danny would talk, about the latest expert he'd called, or the plans that he was making for how their life would have to change when the doctors agreed that Rusty was stable enough to come home, and he'd pretend that he didn't hear her knife scrape across her plate.

He'd given up raging for miracles. Some things James Bond couldn't solve.

There were bad days. Days when they met him at reception and tried to hold him back, and in some small and twisted place, it amused him that they never quite understood how that didn't work.

Days of endless screaming and eternal terror. Days when he'd spend hours just trying to coax Rusty out from under the bed while the nurse in the doorway rolled his eyes. Days when he didn't dare touch, or talk because Rusty wouldn't understand. Days when he went back to Tess with bruises on his face, chest, arms, soul. (_She never asked if it was worth it. He loved her_.)

There were better days too, of course. Days when the words came – slurred, and unintelligible, but there. Days when Rusty's eyes lit up at the sight of the Hershey bar that Danny carefully unwrapped for him. Days when he'd see a ruined hand rubbing at the corner of a scarred mouth that was tilted in something that might have been concentration. Days when Danny was greeted with a smile, and something that might almost have been a spark. Days when he could almost, almost believe that Rusty knew who he was.

There were days when he could remember that once upon a time he'd had the world. And the sun had shone, just for him. Those days he didn't go home to Tess at all. He'd find a hotel with a bar and get a room with two beds and get so drunk that when he crawled into bed and whispered goodnight, he'd hear an answer.

There was the day when he'd burst through the door, the sound of whimpering echoing in his heart, and he'd seen three nurses holding Rusty down, leaning on his arms, his legs, and Rusty had been struggling, and the tears had been falling, and it had been the purest and most original of instincts that had had him yelling and threatening until they fled the room. He'd dropped to his knees beside Rusty, and he'd pulled him up, wrapped his arms around him and he'd kissed his hair, and he'd _promised_, and Rusty had whimpered and smashed his head back against Danny's mouth as hard as he could and had crawled away to hide.

Later, the consultant had told him that the nursing staff wanted him banned from the ward. "They were just doing their jobs. He was violent. They needed to restrain him."

"Violent?" Danny raged. "He can hardly walk! He can't even hold a spoon. How the fuck – "

" – Would you like some more ice for your lip, Mr Ferrer?" the consultant cut in, and Danny sighed, and dropped into the waiting chair like a puppet with the strings cut.

"Please," he whispered. "I can't . . . I don't . . . _please_."

The consultant had squeezed his shoulder gently. Danny hadn't even heard him move. "I'm not going to." He paused. "He's lucky to have you."

Danny stared up at the man for a moment. Then he started to laugh. And he didn't stop for a very long time.

* * *

If someone was going to destroy you - more than that - if someone was going to tear everything that made your world worthwhile into shreds, you'd want there to be a reason for it, wouldn't you?

Jonathan Hairmyres had never been on Danny's list of enemies. He'd never considered that he might have offended the man enough for him to bother about.

Twelve years ago, in New York, there had been a truck with a very mediocre stone sculpture. And Danny had got to hear that inside the sculpture there'd been a little – or, to put it another way, a lot – of antique gold, some old Spanish hoard that no-one wanted to share with the authorities. And maybe he'd heard Hairmyres' name then, and maybe he'd known Hairmyres' reputation then. But it had been one shipment amongst dozens. And there'd been a plan immediately, and there'd been opportunity and he'd never been so good at letting those pass by, and far, far more importantly there'd been boredom. Rusty had been out of town. Danny would never remember where he was or what he'd been doing, but Danny had been alone and he'd taken the truck and the sculpture and the gold, and a little later, once Rusty was back, they'd lost the lot in Belize and Hairmyres' name had never been mentioned.

Six months ago, in Las Vegas, at the grand opening of the Midas, there'd been drinks and laughter and free flowing conversation, and the _last_ grand opening everyone had been to had been discussed endlessly and amusedly, and Danny had had people he'd never even met come up to him to congratulate him. Maybe it had gone to his head, maybe he'd been stupid. Maybe Hairmyres' had always known. Maybe he hadn't. But Danny had found himself being introduced, and they'd talked briefly, politely, and he'd made a remark that might have been a little too knowing, a little too smug, a little too convinced that tonight he was invulnerable.

He had been.

He wasn't six months later when he found himself standing next to Tess in an opulent room that normally would have got all his professional senses tingling. Today, all he had eyes for was Tess, and the calm men with the guns who lined every wall. The guns that weren't pointed at him. The guns that were pointed at Tess. And that was something that Danny had never wanted to see, and he knew that this could have nothing to do with her, and he wanted to beg her to forgive him, wanted to promise that everything would be all right, that he would get them out of whatever this was, but the chief heavy in the nice suit who'd sat with them in the back of the van had been very clear that talking wasn't permitted. He contented himself, for the moment, with squeezing her hand. He'd never seen her look so terrified. Not even with Benedict.

They were waiting in silence for twenty minutes before Hairmyres swept in.

Danny hadn't thought it was possible for him to feel any more afraid.

Hairmyres walked right past them and settled himself behind the large, antique desk and pulled a stack of papers towards him. After a few moments of reading he looked up. "Mr Ocean, Mrs Ocean, I'll be with you in just a few moments. I'm afraid I'm rather behind with work these days. I recently had to terminate my personal assistant, and I just can't seem to find a suitable replacement."

"We could come back later," Danny offered lightly, and he could _feel_ the look Tess gave him.

Hairmyres smiled appreciatively. "That's very considerate of you, Mr Ocean, but I'm afraid it just wouldn't be convenient. You see, we have another guest who should be arriving, oh, any time now, and it wouldn't be very nice to drag him all the way out here from California only for him to find you've already left, now, would it?"

California. Danny swallowed hard and reminded himself that it was a big state, that plenty of people lived there, and that Rusty had never done anything to attract Hairmyres' attention. (_Of course, neither had Tess_.)

There was a knock on the door, and a fraction of a second later, Danny's heart sunk further as Rusty was hauled into the room by a second heavy in an identical suit. Rusty was carrying on a spirited, if entirely one sided, discussion on the history of croquet. He paused for the barest fraction on seeing Danny, and Danny caught the startlement, the pain, and the resignation. And then Rusty saw Tess and the regret and the anxiety grew just that bit sharper.

"And of course," Rusty finished up cheerfully, and Danny recognised the look on the heavy's face, and wondered just how long this lecture had been going on for. "Playing with flamingos is quite simply cruel." He turned and smiled brightly at Tess and Danny. "Hi, Tess."

"Hello, Rusty." Tess was trying to be brave, trying to match the bravado, and Danny squeezed her hand reassuringly and Rusty smiled gently, and then his gaze met Danny's and he brushed off Danny's guilt and apologies like they never happened. "Kidnapped in broad daylight?"

"Uh huh," Danny agreed. "You?"

"Yeah," Rusty nodded.

"Embarrassed?" he asked, with a glint in his eye, remembering Massachusetts and the mockery that had followed.

By the slight ruefulness in Rusty's smile, the same memory was playing. "Slightly."

Hairmyres cleared his throat gently. "Good evening, Mr Ryan. I trust you had a pleasant flight?"

Rusty shrugged. "I never got my peanuts."

There was a brief tinkle of laughter, and evidently Hairmyres was sure he held all the cards, and they couldn't see where he was wrong. Wait and watch, and he glanced at Rusty and they were agreed. There'd be something. Some opportunity, some bargain to be struck – something.

Hairmyres smiled "You all know each other, now allow me to introduce myself. I am Jonathan Hairmyres." Danny heard the pause and watched the lack of reaction on both Tess and Rusty and knew the very different reasons. "I am your host for this evening's . . . discussion. These are my boys." He nodded first at the heavy from the van and then at the victim of the croquet lecture. "Todd and Marmaduke."

Danny blinked. Rusty looked delighted. "Marmaduke?" he asked. "Take it your parents wanted a boy?"

Marmaduke growled and his hand flew back and Danny clenched his jaw.

Hairmyres coughed pointedly a just before the blow connected, and Marmaduke paused and glanced over at the desk meekly and stepped back. "Sorry, Mr Hairmyres."

"Now, now. What have I told you about being impetuous?" Hairmyres chided fondly. "I'm afraid you don't get to decide what happens to Mr Ryan."

There was a plan. Of course there was a plan. And Danny was afraid.

"Well," Hairmyres stood and stretched, and walked round the desk to warm himself in front of the blazing fire. "Now we're all here, we can get started." He stared at Danny. "Mr Ocean, while I admit that men in your profession have their place, I do not care to have people stealing from me. I find it irksome and I find it disrespectful and I find I cannot let it go." He nodded meaningfully towards Todd and Marmaduke, who immediately pulled a length of plastic sheeting out from behind the sofa and started carefully using it to cover the carpet and the furniture. "I do so hate messes," Hairmyres mused pensively. "And the insurance company does fuss so."

Tess was looking blankly at the plastic sheeting. It was obvious that she had no idea of the significance, and more than anything, Danny wanted to keep it that way.

The time for denial was long past. He had to make the best of the truth. He stepped forwards and his expression was open and sincere. "Your problem is with me. Tess and Rusty had nothing to do with it." He shot a quick glare towards Rusty, warning him against any ridiculously noble lies, and watched with satisfaction as Rusty shut his mouth.

"I know that," Hairmyres assured him. "However, I make it a point to know my enemies very well. If you were a different sort of man, we'd be having this conversation in the basement. I'd watch as my boys took your eyes, your ears, your voice, and we'd throw you out into the cold world with nothing and you'd live out the rest of your life alone in the dark. But Mrs Ocean and Mr Ryan would be nowhere in sight. There wouldn't be the slightest chance of them getting hurt for your mistake. And that's what you'd prefer, isn't it? That's the kind of man you are." He smiled. "Of course, if you were a different kind of man, in all probability Mrs Ocean and Mr Ryan would never have been in your life for you to hurt in the first place."

Danny's throat tightened. Right now, he wasn't above begging. Right now he wasn't capable of not begging. Even though it was exactly what Hairmyres wanted. "Please. Just let them go. You've got me. We can come to some arrangement."

"There's nothing I want from you, Mr Ocean. And I've got _all_ of you," Hairmyres corrected gently and he clicked his fingers and Marmaduke grabbed Rusty, with an expression that said he was enjoying it just a little too much, and Todd grabbed Tess and Danny could see the blood drain from her face. "Thank you, boys." He walked up to Danny and guided him so that he was looking straight at Tess, looking straight at Rusty. And Tess was deathly afraid, and Rusty was angry and apologetic and Hairmyres wasn't nearly done. "I was surprised by what my people told me about you, Mr Ocean. At first glance I thought I was going to have to find another lesson to teach. Parents dead, no siblings, no close family – apart from the lovely Mrs Ocean, of course. Your beloved wife. The woman you robbed three Las Vegas Casinos for. The woman you went to prison for. Now that's something special. That's true romance. And then my attention was drawn to your . . . _unorthodox_ . . . relationship with Mr Ryan."

Danny struggled to keep his face blank. Tess' mouth set a little tighter. Rusty looked amused.

"Oh, don't worry," Hairmyres went on. "I'm not about to ask whether or not you're sleeping together. It really couldn't matter less, could it? The point is that you love each other. The point is that you'd die for each other in a heartbeat and never ask why. Everyone I spoke to agrees. Inseparable. Closer than brothers. Two halves of the same soul. Sweet, don't you agree?"

Danny managed to shrug. "Little Hallmark for my tastes."

Hairmyres nodded. "So now I have the two people that you love more than anyone else in the world. The two people that you'd rather die than see hurt. But one of them is going to be hurt. Because of you. Because you don't know your place, because you don't know about respect, because _you_ stole from _me_. One of them is going to be hurt. Choose."

He couldn't have heard right. Couldn't possibly. "What?"

Hairmyres smiled at him, patiently. "You get to choose who gets hurt. Come now, Mr Ocean. It can't be that hard. Your wife or your partner? Mrs Ocean or Mr Ryan?"

"I'm not going to choose," Danny whispered hoarsely. He couldn't choose between Rusty and Tess. He could never choose between Rusty and Tess. There had to be some other way.

"Very well." Hairmyres nodded casually to Todd. "Kill them both."

"Wait!" Danny shouted. "Don't . . . "

With a sigh, Hairmyres turned back to him. "These are the options, Mr Ocean. Either one of them gets punished, just a little, and afterwards you're all alive and free; or else they both die and you _still_ get to live. Now, who do you want to hurt?"

Danny looked at Tess and he looked at Rusty and he felt like screaming for the choice that wasn't a choice.

* * *

Rusty met Danny's eyes evenly and he let the understanding and the sorrow and the reassurance show, right along with the simple knowledge that there was only one way this could play. There was only one way they'd ever let this play. And even as Danny apologised, Rusty was laughing at him.

There would be pain. There would be a lot of pain, and Hairmyres would doubtlessly make him scream, unquestionably make him suffer, make them suffer. But he understood and he could accept, and he could survive. A long time ago they'd made another choice that wasn't a choice and after that there'd been no limits.

Hairmyres had said he wasn't going to kill them. Any of them. So whatever happened, however bad it got, Danny would be there. They'd still have them.

And afterwards there would be time for guilt and there'd be time for discussion, and he'd find out just what it was that Danny had done to Hairmyres and whether it had been worth it. Not that Danny would ever think so now. But Rusty hoped it had at least been fun.

In the meantime he tried to prepare himself.

He was going to be hurt. And Danny was going to have to watch.

He didn't know which was worse.

* * *

It took a couple of seconds for Tess to be able to look at Danny. She honestly didn't want to know how difficult this decision was for him, and she was trying desperately to suppress the part of her that wanted to cry and plead with him. The part that didn't trust him to choose her over Rusty. The part that felt that he _ought_ to choose her over Rusty.

She'd never been this frightened before and she hated it. Her worst nightmares revolved around Danny going to prison, (_Except, maybe, maybe, those six months when she was alone and it was always cold, or those few weeks after Benedict, and maybe then her imagination had shown her worse, but it had never been _this_ and it had never been real and she'd told herself it never could be. She'd told herself that things like this didn't really happen._)

And she looked up and Danny was looking at Rusty, and if there was a discussion, if there was a decision being made then it was going on far above her head, and she wondered if Rusty was begging Danny to save him, and somehow she knew that he wasn't, and she immediately felt ashamed.

There were men with guns. There was a man holding her arms behind her back. There was a threat that she didn't exactly understand and that made her think of things she couldn't articulate. And this was happening, and this was real, and she was so very, very afraid.

* * *

Danny finally managed to look away from Rusty. He hadn't managed to say everything that had to be said. But he never could.

And he caught sight of Tess and saw her fear and her misery and he tried to look reassuring, tried to tell her not to worry.

He turned to face Hairmyres. "Don't hurt Tess," he said quietly, and he hung his head in defeat.

There was the slightest of pauses. "Mr Ocean," Hairmyres said gently. "You didn't answer the question."

He looked up sharply and Todd and Marmaduke had _guns_, and there was a gun pressed against Tess' head, against Rusty's head and there was fear and there was confusion and no, no, he'd made the damned choice, he had. "I did! You said you'd let them live if I chose!"

"Do you remember what I asked?" Hairmyres asked, his eyes intent.

Danny frowned. "You asked . . ." And he got it, and inside he was crying. "You asked who I wanted to hurt," he finished, dully.

"Yes," Hairmyres agreed. "Well?"

"I . . . " And Danny knew that he had to say it, needed to say it, but there was just no way, surely.

"Say the words or they both die," Hairmyres warned.

He couldn't hide the pain. "I want you to hurt Rusty." And something cracked inside him at the words, and he had to look, had to see the man he was betraying, and the way Rusty looked at him didn't change and there was acknowledgement and compassion and regret and love. Right. Right. They could get through this. Hairmyres could make him say it, he couldn't make it real. _They_ were unbreakable.

"Thank you, Mr Ocean. We'll be happy to." He smiled triumphantly and made a gesture, and Todd and Marmaduke dragged Rusty back on to the plastic sheeting and four of the men with guns stepped forward and pushed Danny down onto the sofa, and Tess next to him. "Oh, one more thing. You can ask it all to stop anytime. You can beg, or plead, even moan or whimper and I'll listen. Any time you like. The slightest suggestion. You can ask us to leave Mr Ryan alone, and we shall." He paused. "Of course, that will make it Mrs Ocean's turn. Please. Get comfortable. I imagine you'll be there for a while."

This was how it started.

* * *

She'd never imagined anything like this. The viciousness, the brutality. She tried to look away and the man behind her twisted her head back round. She tried to close her eyes and the hand on her shoulder tightened until they were open again.

They hit Rusty again and again and again, and she could see bruises forming and she could hear every blow, and she could see _blood_ and she couldn't stand it and she'd never imagined anything like this, and it had to be killing Danny. She inched closer to him. Put a hand on his arm. Tried to offer comfort. Tried not to let him see that she was so, so glad it wasn't her.

And they were still hitting Rusty.

* * *

They were holding back. Danny knew it. This was nothing; a show of a beating.

And he hated it anyway, because they were hurting Rusty (_like he'd said he wanted_) but even more he was worried about the why.

He felt Tess' hand on his arm and he smiled at her, without looking away. "Everything will be all right, Tess," he promised in a whisper.

* * *

Rusty considered pointing out that his Great Aunt Hattie could punch harder than Todd, and that _she_ was dead, and imaginary besides. But he had a feeling that wouldn't go down well, and Todd had already whispered to him that if he made trouble it might just be Danny in his place. That didn't seem to be in Hairmyres' plan, but he wasn't going to chance his luck. Not with those stakes and nothing but pride in the pot.

He leaned as far as he could away from Marmaduke, who was still holding his arms tight behind his back, and got as comfortable as he could, in the circumstances, and made a point of reacting to each blow.

It hurt. Of course it hurt. But he could see Danny's face, tight and pale, over Todd's shoulder, and he couldn't help but agree.

They were holding back. There was something more coming. Things were only going to get worse.

* * *

It was an eternity before Hairmyres said "Enough," and Tess couldn't help but sob with relief, because it was over.

* * *

"Enough," Hairmyres said, and he sounded bored, and Danny's chest tightened.

Danny didn't say anything. Didn't want to risk giving any reaction that might make it worse. He could feel Tess' relief and he never wanted her to be disillusioned, and he squeezed her hand in silent hope.

He watched Todd and Marmaduke stand back from Rusty and he caught the quick look Rusty gave him and there was anger and anxiety, but they were both still there.

"Enough," Hairmyres repeated. "Honestly, this is dull, wouldn't you say, Mr Ocean?"

There was no right answer to that. If he said no, they would continue and if he said yes they'd try something else.

"Mr Ocean, please, don't add incivility to your other flaws," Hairmyres chided gently. "I'm afraid that Mr Ryan might not appreciate the consequences."

Danny swallowed. "I'm sorry. I didn't find it dull."

"You enjoyed it? I suppose it had its moments. But it's so difficult to see anything, isn't it? You wanted Mr Ryan hurt, and it's so difficult to be sure what's happening." He sighed and seemed to brighten up. "I suppose we could concentrate on his face, couldn't we? Though all those punches on one target . . . accidents will happen. Noses will break. Cheekbones will shatter. And you're always hearing about those poor brain damaged boxers, aren't you?"

Danny's soul screamed. Rusty.

"If only there was a way that we could see what was going on, skin on skin, so to speak, and still spread the damage out across his body."

The hint was obvious. The steering was obvious. And he wanted Danny to say it. Danny's eyes met Rusty's and he accepted the weary amusement, the resignation. The permission.

"I want you to strip him," Danny said in a low voice.

"Oh?" Hairmyres raised an eyebrow. "Why, Mr Ocean, what a clever idea."

Marmaduke and Todd were already ripping Rusty's clothes off. Tearing them. Throwing shirt and shoes and pants and jacket and underwear away into the corner. Like they were nothing. Like they'd done this a hundred times before. (_Like they weren't expecting him to need them again._)

"Don't rip the shirt," Rusty complained, grimacing as they did. And his tone was light, but Danny could hear the fear and the preparation.

And Tess was staring at Danny in unmitigated horror.

And the beating began again. And this time they weren't holding back. And this time Danny saw the bruises blossom and spread, this time Danny saw every drop of blood that spilt, and this time Danny saw the pain that was hidden, not feigned.

* * *

The plastic was sticky underfoot. After four punches, Todd was holding him up. Marmaduke knew where to hit. And how to hit. And Rusty couldn't get his breath between blows, and he tried to keep his head up, tried to keep his footing, tried to stay strong for Danny, because he could see Danny, could see the fear and the rage and the helplessness, expertly hidden behind the reassurance and the comfort, for him and for Tess.

There were more punches and Todd let him go, and he fell, and he curled away from their fists and away from their feet and he tried to make himself as small a target as possible, and he could feel his ribs cracking, could feel his kidneys bruising.

He'd had worse, he reminded himself. He'd had worse before and he'd probably have worse again, and Danny was there.

* * *

"Where are my manners?" Hairmyres asked suddenly, as she watched Rusty fall, and she couldn't understand how he wasn't screaming in pain, couldn't understand how he was even still conscious, and she couldn't understand how they could just sit and watch. "Mr Ocean, Mrs Ocean, let me offer you a drink."

"We're not thirsty," Danny said, in a voice that was a little short of a snarl, and Tess couldn't imagine feeling like eating or drinking ever again.

He was so hurt. He was being hurt right in front of them. And Danny had . . . Danny had . . . and he was naked, and vulnerable, except in some way that she didn't understand, he wasn't.

"Please, I insist." He rang a small bell and an elderly man came into the room and for a brief, ridiculous second, Tess thought that maybe he'd help them. But he never even looked over to where the men were hitting Rusty. "Three brandies, please, Paul."

"Certainly, Mr Hairmyres, sir. And would you like me to dispose of this rubbish?" He was looking at the pile of discarded clothes. And Tess wanted to shout, because he couldn't take those away, Rusty would need them. Later, when they walked out of here, like he'd promised, like Danny had promised, Rusty would need them.

"Please," Hairmyres nodded.

More endless time passed, and they needed to stop soon, he'd die if they didn't stop soon, _she'd _die if they didn't stop soon.

A brandy glass was pressed into her hand. "Thank you," she said, stupidly, and one of the men behind her snorted with laughter.

Hairmyres looked reproving. "Good manners are nothing to be laughed at, Stefan. Please, Mrs Ocean. Drink with me." She shook her head, and his eyes narrowed slightly. "To Mr Ocean's continued health," he proposed, and she got the threat and raised her glass and drank.

It burned her throat.

Danny said nothing and he held his own glass untouched and his knuckles were white around it.

She saw the kick that landed in Rusty's stomach, and she winced, and she heard the first unstifled moan of pain, and she shivered.

"Cold, Mrs Ocean?" Hairmyres voice was solicitous and just a little too eager.

"No, no, I . . . " She shook her head rapidly and helplessly.

The men had stopped. Had stepped away from Rusty. And once again, she felt the stirrings of relief. The hope that this was all over, and that they could all go home and Danny and Rusty could make light of this nightmare. Could make it seem like, after all, it hadn't been too bad.

"Todd? Why don't you bank the fire up," Hairmyres suggested. "No, not you, Marmaduke. Not yet. You're too enthusiastic."

She watched blankly as Todd reached for the poker. He didn't make any real attempt to fix the fire, which already seemed to be burning far hotter than she would expect. He just held the iron poker deep in the flames.

* * *

All the time Todd was holding the poker in the fire, Danny was staring at Rusty and neither of them could see any options. Too many guns. Too many chances for a bullet to land in the wrong person. They didn't have any cards.

"Mr Ocean?" Hairmyres sounded like this wasn't the first time he'd been trying to get Danny's attention. "It's your choice. Where would you like Todd to burn Mr Ryan?"

"How about Tahiti?" Rusty suggested, and his voice was strong and steady, and surely only Danny could hear the ragged edge. "I don't wear Factor 25 I look like a lobster."

Danny stared and Todd was standing next to the fireplace and the iron poker was glowing red, and they wanted to burn Rusty. They wanted to hold that against Rusty's skin. And they wanted him to say where. He shook his head, helplessly.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Hairmyres apologised. "Would you rather Mr Ryan and Mrs Ocean swapped places for a while? I'm sure my boys would be happy to oblige."

"No!" Tess' voice. Petrified. And he turned to look at her, and she had her hands over her mouth, and she was staring at the poker in terror, and she looked round at him and her expression was full of guilt and apology and he understood, he did, he almost did, and he didn't love her any less, and he didn't know how to say any of that.

"It's okay, Tess," Rusty said softly. "I'd do the same in your position." And he sounded sincere, but even Tess didn't look like she believed the lie.

"Burn Rusty," Danny said quietly, because what choice did he have?

"Where?" Hairmyres asked again and Danny didn't know and he tried to think about where it would hurt _least_, but all he could think was that it _would_ hurt, and all he could imagine was flesh shrivelling and burning.

"How about an easier question," Hairmyres suggested sympathetically. "Left arm or right arm?"

And that should have been easier, he should have been able to just choose randomly, but he couldn't and the more he hesitated the more likely it was that Hairmyres would get annoyed, but he couldn't decide.

He looked helplessly over at Rusty, and Rusty smiled slightly and hs gaze flickered meaningfully down to his left arm, and for a split second Danny was confused, and then he saw the tattoo and he almost laughed. Scars? Rusty could cope with scars. But he wanted the tattoo pristine.

"I want you to burn his right arm," he said clearly and Hairmyres nodded slowly.

"Very well, Mr Ocean. If that's what you want."

He watched. He had to watch. Even if he wanted to look away, they wouldn't have let him. He kept his gaze fixed on Rusty's all the time and they tried to block everything else out.

Todd was methodical. Eight little sizzling noises that only lasted a few aeons of seconds. Eight sharp intakes of breath, eight tiny moans of pain. Eight shiny red marks that wept, that would always be visible, that he'd asked for.

Danny didn't make a sound. Didn't dare.

"I think, perhaps, something on his chest and stomach as well, Todd." Hairmyres suggested. "Mr Ocean? What do you think is best? Do you want Mr Ryan to experience one, large, deep burn? Or several minor ones?"

He swallowed. And he had no doubt that there would be more than 'several' minor burns, that Hairmyres would have Todd drag it out as long as possible, but if he chose the deep burn, there could be more than pain and scars. There could be muscle damage, nerve damage. There could be permanent effects. And he'd spent so much of his life trying to make sure that Rusty wasn't hurt at all, and now all he could do was choose the least of evils.

"Several minor ones," he said evenly. "Please."

He could smell flesh burning.

* * *

He tried to tell both himself and Danny that he'd been hurt worse than this making coffee.

Of course, that was true. But he hadn't already been aching all over, hadn't already been shaking with pain and fatigue.

He hurt and he was afraid. For both of them. Every time they made Danny say the words, Rusty could see another part of him shutting down.

And he gasped and choked and jerked away from the burning, as Todd rolled the poker over his nipple, as he quickly caressed it over his stomach.

The pain didn't even start to fade until long after Todd stepped back.

* * *

"You know," Hairmyres mused, once Todd had returned the poker to the fire. "I think the last time I taught this lesson, the man concerned bit clean through his tongue at this point. You seem to be bearing up remarkably well, Mr Ocean. Perhaps this isn't as difficult for you as I thought it was going to be."

Danny couldn't hide the shudder.

"Oh good, you're learning." Hairmyres leaned back. "He was an interesting man, I have to say. He had two lovely daughters. Twins. They'd just started college, I believe. The elder was sitting where Mrs Ocean is now. The younger was in Mr Ryan's place. At first. He kept screaming at my boys to stop, and so they had the pleasure of both of them." Hairmyres smiled at the expression on Danny's face. "I have to say, personally I prefer my bed partners willing. But boys will be boys."

He could feel Tess shaking and he put his arm round her and drew her close.

"Sadly, unless you're willing to offer up Mrs Ocean, my boys have no such choice in this case."

That was never, never going to happen.

"Although," Hairmyres frowned. "I suppose Mr Ryan is pretty enough." He glanced over. "_Was_ pretty enough," he corrected. "What do you think, boys?"

Marmaduke smiled. Todd shrugged. "Whatever you want, Mr Hairmyres, sir."

"Whatever _Mr Ocean_ wants," Hairmyres corrected. "What do you say, Mr Ocean?"

Danny couldn't look at Rusty. Couldn't look at Tess.

"Come now, it's a straightforward choice. Mr Ryan or Mrs Ocean? Which do you want to see, struggling underneath another man? Which pretty little thing do you want my boys to use?"

Tess clung tighter to him and her breathing was harsh and her tears were soaking his shirt.

The feeling of Rusty's terror was palpable, but when he looked round, when he had to look round, Rusty had got it all bottled up, all under control. "Danny," he said quietly, and Danny understood everything that was in his voice, the fear, the ache, the horror and the acceptance, and this time he couldn't take the permission, couldn't take the automatic, unquestioning forgiveness.

"Please," he begged Hairmyres, even as he knew he shouldn't. "Please don't do this. I'll do anything. I'll give anything else. Please not this."

Hairmyres sighed, and suddenly there were guns pressed against Tess' head, against Rusty's head. "And you were doing so well, Mr Ocean. I really thought you were understanding the nature of the lesson. Oh, well."

"Wait," Danny blurted out and he couldn't say it, he couldn't say it, he didn't have the words. "I want you to . . . I want . . . "

"Yes?" Hairmyres asked intently.

The world hung by a knife edge.

"I want you to rape Rusty."

It fell.

* * *

This was a nightmare. This wasn't happening. She'd wake up any moment now, safe in her own bed, and she'd tell Danny what she'd dreamt and he'd hold her close and tell her how impossible it all was.

Except that she could never imagine the look in Rusty's eyes as they pulled him onto his stomach. Could never imagine that Danny could be so still, could be so far away.

And she could never have imagined that Danny could say those words, those hateful, hateful words. She knew why. Knew that he hadn't had a choice; she could still feel the cold of the gun against her head. That didn't make it better. That didn't stop his voice playing in her head.

(_That didn't stop the guilt at the relief, the aching endless relief, that it wasn't her_.)

And there was a part of her that was convinced that it was never going to happen. Not to Rusty. Somehow, someone would stop it. Even as she tried not to watch as Marmaduke planted his foot on Rusty's hip and opened his fly and began to . . . _stimulate _. . . himself, she was sure that something would happen, and she buried her head in Danny's shoulder and listened to her own incoherent words and frantic pleas, and she was begging Danny to do something, begging Hairmyres to change his mind.

Hands reached from behind her and dragged her upright, dragged her away from Danny.

"You will watch, Mrs Ocean."

Danny hadn't reacted in any way.

And then Marmaduke kicked Rusty's legs apart and crouched down, grabbing Rusty's hips and pulling him backwards even as he thrust forwards, and Rusty _screamed_ and Tess felt herself shatter.

* * *

It wasn't the pain, though he was being ripped apart in a way he'd never imagined; being torn, and rent, and used; being burned from the inside out. But it wasn't the pain.

It was the feeling of the plastic being rubbed backwards and forwards against his face, again and again and again.

It was the realisation that he was crying and the knowledge that he couldn't stop.

It was the harsh panting in his ear and the steady, rhythmic repetition. "Yes, fuck yes, fuck yes, yes, yes, fuck, fuck."

It was the nausea, the knowledge that this man was inside him, and the clinging feeling of revulsion, of dirt and degradation that he knew would never fade.

It was the hands moving across his back, kneading the flesh of his hips, across the small of his back, moving lower.

It was the harsh cry and the flooding feeling, and the scent of it, and the scant few seconds of near relief before a new weight pressed down on him and there was fresh pain and a murmur of "Christ, so tight," and it all began again.

He could feel himself slipping further away, and it was only when he thought of Danny, with a stab of guilt and fear, that he managed to make the terrible effort and lift his head. He had to see.

* * *

Danny was dimly aware of Marmaduke finishing, and everything inside him screamed as Todd took his place, grunting in pleasure, but he couldn't look away from Rusty, couldn't stop silently begging him to look up, to look at _him._

He could see the agony and he could see the disgust and he was feeling them in equal measure, and he wanted to kill them all, Hairmyres and his boys, he wanted them _dead, _but more than anything else, he wanted to hold Rusty tight, and never let go, and never let anything hurt him ever again, even if maybe that meant never leaving the house again.

And Rusty finally lifted his head and Danny could have screamed at everything revealed in his eyes.

He pushed away the guilt and the apologies; not helpful now however much he needed to offer them, and he buried the rage and the screaming, and he focussed on Rusty, on reminding Rusty of _them_, of who they were, of letting Rusty see that he was there, that they were there.

But Rusty was shaking, was fading and Danny could see him shutting down and he couldn't let that happen.

He looked Rusty in the eyes and with the full weight of their life, he begged, pleaded, ordered, demanded, _asked_ that Rusty keep fighting. That Rusty fight, with everything he had. That Rusty stay with him.

_I need you. Please. Fight for me_.

* * *

For a brief moment they were somewhere better. For a brief moment it didn't hurt and he was free.

And even when reality reached forwards and thrust his face against the floor, even when Todd pressed his chest against Rusty's back, grinding up and down against his aching body, even when Todd began licking his neck, long and slow, he was still surrounded, enveloped, protected, by Danny's strength and Danny's love. They'd never asked for what they'd had. They'd never tried to understand, to explain, to quantify, what they had. But it was still there, and it was perfect, and it was everything he wanted.

And he could feel the promise he'd given. He would fight.

_To the last inch._

* * *

Afterwards, and he was still lying on the plastic, still trying to ignore the pain. He could hear Tess sobbing. Could hear Danny breathing, and he didn't need to look to see the fear, the rage, the helpless love, the absolute and the unconditional. He twisted his head round, so that Danny could see his eyes, so that Danny could see the same things reflected back at him.

A shadow fell across him and he looked up to see Hairmyres standing over him. "Mr Ryan, you look pale. Please. Have a drink."

And suddenly there was a brandy glass pressed to his lips, and he took a mouthful, and he looked back up at Hairmyres and he caught Danny's tight-lipped disapproval, and he gave an invisible shrug and an imperceptible grin, and he spat the mouthful of brandy all over Hairmyres' face.

"Thank you," he rasped. "Good vintage."

There was a moment of frozen disbelief and furious indignation. Then Hairmyres took a silk handkerchief out of his breast pocket and carefully wiped his face. He let if fall to the floor with a wrinkle of his nose. Then he sighed and kicked Rusty in the ribcage as hard as he could, once, twice, three times.

Rusty rolled away, gasping.

Hairmyres' bent over him and spoke quietly. "I am not in the slightest bit interested in you. Please do not try my patience."

"Did you want something?" With an effort he kept the pain out of his voice and replaced it with mild curiosity.

"I want you to look at Mr Ocean." Hairmyres spoke softly, Rusty had to strain to hear. Obviously he wanted this conversation private.

Rusty looked round obligingly, looked at Danny who was watching their little chat with unconcealable fear. "Uh huh?"

Hairmyres looked at him intently and his voice was low and sincere. "I want you to remember this. _He's_ sitting there, warm and comfortable on my sofa, glass of brandy in his hand, while _you_ are lying here naked and bleeding, after having been beaten and burned and violated in the worst possible ways. At his request, remember that? He wanted this for you. Because he made a mistake and he can't take the consequences for himself, so he brought them on you. You're the innocent one here."

Rusty let the smile show on his face.

Hairmyres frowned but continued. "Think of the pain. Think of how it felt to have my boys inside you. Think about it."

_(As if he could stop.)_

"Now, can you honestly tell me that you wouldn't swap places with Mr Ocean if you could? That secretly, deep down, you don't wish it was you on that sofa and him lying here? Like he deserves?"

Rusty stared up at Hairmyres for a long, long time. Then, without ever breaking eye contact, he threw his head back and started to laugh.

* * *

Danny heard Rusty laughing, dark and malevolent, and he was aware of Tess, frozen and bewildered and horrified beside him, and he watched as Hairmyres stood up straight, and he could see the anger and the puzzlement and this wasn't going to be good.

Hairmyres adjusted his tie. "Marmaduke," he called. "Mr Ocean was very slow in answering the question last time. I find some additional punishment is in order. You may do as you wish to Mr Ryan."

Marmaduke's eyes lit up. "Really, Mr Hairmyres?" He sounded as if all his Christmases had come at once.

"Ten minutes playtime." Hairmyres nodded.

And Marmaduke looked around thoughtfully, before he walked over to the fireplace and gripped the handle of the poker. "Get him on his knees and hold his head still, will you Todd?"

"No!" Danny was out of his seat and the surrounding henchmen grabbed him and forced him back down. "No!"

"Sit down, please, Mr Ocean. This does not require any input from you." Hairmyres sat back down behind his desk.

And still Danny was struggling, desperate to get free, unable to think any further ahead than reaching Rusty.

"Mr Ocean, if you do not cease this instant, I'm afraid I will have to give Marmaduke fifteen minutes instead."

Danny went limp instantly, and he fell back into the sofa and Tess' hand found his and he squeezed her fingers in a death-grip and waited and watched.

* * *

Rusty heard Danny fighting and he tried to send a reassuring smile his way, but Todd's hand in his hair made it impossible.

And Marmaduke was walking steadily towards him, and the end of the poker was a bright red and he knew damn well that everyone in the room could see him shaking.

The glowing tip came closer and closer, towards his eye, towards his _eye,_ and he bit his lip hard, desperate not to scream, and he pulled his head back, and Danny was begging them not to do this, and he could feel the heat against his face, the promise of pain, and he screwed his eyes shut, knowing that wouldn't stop them . . .

"No, Marmaduke." Hairmyres sounded regretful. "I believe I want Mr Ryan to be able to see Mr Ocean. In the hope that he might understand exactly who is making the decisions here."

Rusty knew that perfectly well, but inwardly he sagged with relief.

Marmaduke grunted, disappointedly.

"If I might make a suggestion," Hairmyres went on. "I believe Mr Ryan's incessant talking was annoying you earlier? This might be a good time to rectify that situation."

He opened his eyes again in time to see the smile bloom on Marmaduke's face as he spoke to Todd. "Get his mouth open,"

* * *

He watched.

He'd begged when they were going to put Rusty's eyes out. And it had been such a relief when they hadn't, and he'd figured that maybe permanent wasn't part of the game-plan.

He could almost laugh at that.

The red hot iron was pressed against Rusty's lips, and Rusty couldn't help but jerk his head away, couldn't help but scream, and Marmaduke laughed and drove the poker deep into Rusty's mouth, and Todd held his head still, made sure his mouth closed around it, and Marmaduke thrust in and out, rhythmically, over and over.

Danny watched.

The scream ran through him again and again and again.

* * *

Fire. He was on fire, and he couldn't breathe, and his lungs were burning up, and he couldn't think, and he couldn't scream, and he was on _fire,_ and the fire was moving, was scouring against his lips, his tongue, the back of his throat, and it was burning everything away, was burning him away, and he was going to die, he was going to burn up and die, and please, Danny, make it stop, make it stop, make them stop.

The fire was pulled out of his mouth, and with the rush of air everything burned just that bit harder, and he fell to the ground, and he still couldn't breathe, and he thought his throat was closing up.

He twisted, searching desperately for Danny, because if he couldn't breathe, if he was going to die, he needed to see Danny, needed to apologise for not being able to fight anymore.

And he saw Danny, and there was nothing except Danny, and even the pain took a backseat. "Rus', Rus' listen to me. Breathe slow, okay? Shallow breaths. You need to try to calm down, okay?"

And Danny's voice was cracking, and Rusty knew that he was staring at his mouth, and he was sorry, and he couldn't calm down because they'd . . . Danny, they'd . . .

"I know, I know." Danny soothed, helplessly. "Try. For me, please."

And he did, and breathing got that bit easier, and his throat felt the slightest bit clearer, and he felt dizzy and the light was fading now, and he apologised to Danny and welcomed the darkness. Just for a little while.

* * *

Tess could hear the little whimpering noises she was making but she didn't know if she could stop. Didn't bother trying. She couldn't stand to look at Rusty now. Couldn't stand to see what they'd done. And Danny had no idea she existed any more, was trapped far beyond her, in Rusty's pain, and he shrugged her hand off as she tried to offer the only thing she had left, and she didn't know what to do and Marmaduke was back at the fire again, was heating the poker up again, and she didn't know what to do.

"He's fainted," Todd reported, disappointment and disgust in his voice.

Tess watched as Hairmyres opened the bottom drawer of his desk and took out a little case and pulled out a syringe and ampoule and expertly prepared an injection. He caught her looking. "A late acquaintance of mine brought this to my attention. A cocktail of drugs, primarily adrenaline. It will keep a man conscious through most things."

That wasn't fair. Oh, that wasn't fair. If Rusty was unconscious he should be safe. They should leave him alone.

"Why can't you just let us go?" she asked, helplessly.

"I can't let you go because your husband is a thief and a liar and he needs to learn his place," he explained, gently. Then he bent down over Rusty and injected him in the arm.

The effect was instantaneous; Rusty's eyes snapped open, and he gasped and leapt upwards, and it was obvious that the pain was immediate and unbearable and he collapsed back to the ground, curled and twisted and miserable.

"Let's hope he doesn't have a heart condition," Hairmyres observed lightly.

Tess tried not to think about what she'd like to do to him.

* * *

It wasn't over. Why wasn't it over? They'd passed the point a long time ago where he'd have happily promised to never think about stealing anything ever again and meant it, where he'd have publicly prostrated himself in front of Hairmyres and apologised and begged forgiveness. He'd do anything and it still wasn't over.

Marmaduke looked down at the poker with satisfaction and glanced over at Todd. "Get him on his back and hold his legs down," he ordered and Danny saw the fear and understanding in Rusty's eyes and he clenched his fingernails into his palm and died a little more inside.

"Mr Hairmyres, please," he pleaded.

Hairmyres looked thoughtfully at him. "I told you, Mr Ocean. You don't have any say for the next," he checked his watch, "Four minutes. Just sit back and watch."

"Please. Just stop this," he begged.

"Mr Ocean, I grow bored of your whining," he was warned. "If you continue in this vein I'll let Marmaduke have a turn with Mrs Ocean when he's finished."

Danny screwed his eyes up, screwed his courage up, and turned back.

Marmaduke stood over Rusty, letting him see the poker, obviously enjoying the fear, the weak struggles as Rusty tried to get away.

And then Marmaduke leaned forwards and he planted the poker firmly in Rusty's stomach, and then he dragged it down, down, and with a sudden, joyous movement, he pushed it firmly against Rusty's groin, and there was such, such pain, and Marmaduke was moving so slowly, methodically, burning Rusty as completely as he could, and there was . . . there was . . .

_(It wasn't supposed to be like this.) _

* * *

He jerked his hips back, arched his back, tried to make the pain stop, tried to get away from the fire, and all his muscles were tensed and stretched and screaming, and he was screaming, even if he couldn't make a sound he was screaming, and he could feel his throat crackle and tear.

"Wish you'd moved like that earlier." He didn't understand the words.

"Hey, least it won't matter that the girls won't look at you any more, huh?" Didn't understand.

He couldn't see Danny. He couldn't _feel _Danny. And he thought he was alone and it hurt so much.

He couldn't get away from the pain. And it lasted forever.

* * *

Marmaduke stopped eventually. Ten minutes in hell was longer than ten minutes in the old world.

He tried to make eye contact with Rusty. Tried not to imagine accusation where there was none. Tried not to think about anything other than surviving the next moment, the pain of the permanent would come later.

And Rusty looked at him at last, and what could Danny say? He promised love, and he promised always, and he shared in the pain and the fear and the endless, endless horror.

"What's that for?" Tess asked sharply, from a thousand miles away, and Danny snapped round to look, because there was something in her voice . . .

Hairmyres was holding a hammer idly between two fingers. He smiled when he saw Danny looking at him. "Have you ever considered, I wonder, Mr Ocean, the miracle that is the human hand?"

The barest shadow of a picture took shape in Danny's mind, and he choked back the scream.

"There are twenty seven bones in the human hand, did you know that? Twenty seven. All working together to allow man to live, to thrive. To wage war and create great artworks. To caress a loved one. To deal a deck of cards. If I had to point to something to show the wonder of God's creation, it would be the human hand. So delicate, so sensitive. So very, very fragile." He paused and smiled sweetly. "Left or right?"

Danny opened his mouth but his throat was too dry to speak. He almost wanted to drink the brandy.

Hairmyres seemed to misinterpret his silence. "Twenty seven bones, Mr Ocean. Are they getting broken in the right hand or the left?"

He could argue. And Hairmyres would win. He could fight. And Hairmyres would kill them both. He could beg. And Hairmyres would hurt Tess.

(_And he didn't look at Tess, didn't, because a part of him, looking at Rusty, living the pain, living the terror, living the fading, a part of him wanted to beg Tess to make an offer that he was almost certain he'd refuse_.)

Rusty was right handed.

"His left hand," he said dully. "Make it his left hand. I want you to."

"Very good, Mr Ocean." Hairmyres said, approvingly and he passed the hammer to Todd. "Another shot, I think first. We wouldn't want Mr Ryan missing out on anything, would we?"

Danny watched in silence as Hairmyres injected Rusty again. The effect was less dramatic this time; Rusty simply shuddered once and trembled a little harder.

And then Marmaduke held Rusty's left hand flat against the plastic sheeting and Todd started just above the wrist, and he brought the hammer down again and again and again, and Rusty curled his legs up, and his body convulsed again and again, and Danny died with every blow.

"Twenty seven bones, Mr Ocean," The wonder in Hairmyres' voice was obscene. "Just think of it. Twenty seven tiny bones, broken beyond repair. And so easily."

By the time Todd had worked his way over the palm, had systematically smashed each knuckle, had shattered every finger, there was nothing that was recognisable as a hand. Danny could see fragments of bone poking through dark, bloodied flesh.

Tess' hand was heavy in his. She'd stopped crying a long time ago.

Hairmyres inspected the damage thoughtfully. "How does it feel to have crippled your best friend, Mr Ocean?" he asked suddenly. "How does it feel to have disfigured him? To have emasculated him?"

Danny shook his head and didn't cry.

Hairmyres smiled. "Spread his right hand out," he ordered. "Twenty seven bones." He shook his head in amazement.

"Nooo." The moan was torn unwillingly from Danny's throat. "I said left. I . . . I made your choice."

Blinking, Hairmyres looked at him. "Oh," he said in sudden understanding. "I'm sorry. You misunderstood me. I meant 'Which would you like us to break first?'"

He watched, again, and the world ended, again.

* * *

"Stand up, Mr Ocean." Hairmyres voice was sweet and filled with anticipation and Danny bit into his lip that little bit harder, needing to keep the begging and the pleading inside.

He gently untangled his hand from Tess' and stood up slowly.

"Come here," Hairmyres continued patiently. Danny walked over to the edge of the plastic sheeting and, by sheer power of will, kept himself from shaking. Hairmyres ignored him for a second, looking down at his shoes with a disgusted expression. He wiped the blood off fastidiously on the underside of the plastic. Then, and only then, did he look up, look Danny in the eyes. He nodded thoughtfully. "Good. I think you almost understand the lesson."

Danny could feel the scream building inside him and he wrenched it back down with an effort.

Hairmyres smiled.. "Look at him," he said softly.

For once, for what was probably the first time in his life, Danny didn't want to.

"Look at him," Hairmyres repeated and there was the edge in his voice that spoke of the consequences.

He looked. He knew immediately (_had known before_) that Rusty wasn't conscious enough to be aware of his surroundings. He didn't need to look to pick up on the pain; that was being broadcast loudly enough that Danny was sure he'd be able to read it three states away. And Rusty was lying curled up tightly, and Hairmyres nodded to Marmaduke who brought his foot down hard on Rusty's shoulder, turned him onto his back and Danny _looked_ and Danny _saw._

"This is what you wanted," Hairmyres reminded him. "This was your choice."

He saw the bloody mess that Rusty's face had been left in, saw what was left of his mouth, and his gaze travelled helplessly downwards and he saw the burns, the bruises, cracked ribs at the very least, and he saw the darkened masses of broken flesh that should be hands, and he had to choke back the sob, the moan, and still his gaze travelled lower and he _saw_, he _saw_, he _saw_.

"We're nearly done now," Hairmyres comforted. "Just want to make sure the point has sunk in completely."

"It has," Danny promised, desperately, wildly. "It has, _please."_

Hairmyres sighed approvingly. "You _almost_ understand. But whose fault was this, Mr Ocean?"

"Mine," he said and part of him screamed for revenge even as all of him believed it.

"And whose choice was this?"

"Mine," he said again. "It was mine and I'll never - "

Hairmyres cut him off with a look, before he turned to stare down at Rusty, a strange little expression playing on his face. "And whose responsibility is _that_?"

Rusty was his. Rusty had always been his. "Mine," he said softly and meant it.

"Good," Hairmyres smiled and he leaned in towards Danny and thrust something into his hand. Danny's fingers closed around it automatically and he looked down at the knife in his hand and his heart stopped beating. "Prove it."

No. No, no, no, no, no. "I don't understand," he said, helplessly.

Hairmyres walked away from him. Turned his back on him and walked back to his desk. "It's quite simple Mr Ocean. I want you to leave a mark, so both of you will remember exactly whose responsibility this is. Don't worry, I'm not asking you to sign your name to your handiwork. Four letters should suffice. Across the chest, I think."

He heard Tess sob. He couldn't help her. And he felt the knife slip from his fingers and he heard the dull thump as it hit the floor. "I can't."

Hairmyres looked up from his desk with an expression of mild vexation. "Is this really so much further than the rest?"

Yes. No. He didn't know but he _couldn't_. Surely he couldn't.

There was a sigh. A little gesture. He heard the sound of several guns being cocked. Heard Tess' sob again, heard the fear.

"Pick up the knife, Mr Ocean. You've come so far. Do you really want to give up now?"

If it was just them – yes. A thousand times, yes. They'd have gone down fighting, long ago. Tess . . .

He bent down slowly, retrieved the knife, and, feeling like someone else – like anyone else – he made his way over and knelt down beside Rusty.

* * *

He was lost in the pain, drowning in the ending and the only thing holding him together was the knowledge that somewhere there was Danny and he'd promised Danny that that he'd keep fighting. He wasn't going to give up. Nothing was forever.

But there was pain, and his body was broken and screaming at him, and he couldn't pass out and he couldn't wake up.

And then Danny was kneeling beside him and there were cool fingers stroking through his hair. Danny was there. Danny would stop the pain.

He opened his eyes and after a while Danny's face swam into focus and instinctively he tried to smile and there was fire all over again and he tried to speak and his mouth was filled with blood.

Something was wrong. He almost laughed; there was a lot wrong right now. But something was more wrong than he'd thought. Danny was frightened. Danny looked broken. Danny looked dead. And if Rusty looked even half as bad as he felt, that should be easy to understand. But there was something more. Something he wasn't getting, and he tried to convey the question with his eyes.

Danny was shaking and he bent over and planted a kiss on Rusty's forehead. It hurt but it was worth it.

"I have to. I have to Rus'." And Danny was showing him a knife, and he didn't understand, not really.

"Tess . . . Hairmyres . . . can't let . . . " Danny seemed to be struggling to get the words out and Rusty wanted to reach out, reach up, to hold him, to say something, to explain that it was all right. But he couldn't. And it wasn't. Hairmyres. The knife. Those little lessons. He thought he understood now. And he looked into Danny's eyes, and he tried his best to let Danny _see_ that he understood, that he knew and loved, that there'd never been anything to forgive, that he trusted Danny to do what needed to be done. But Danny's eyes were dead, and the pain stood between them and he couldn't be _sure_.

As the knife pierced his skin, as he tried to scream through a throat burnt past raw, some part of his mind was vaguely reflecting that this really was hurting Danny more than it was hurting him.

* * *

She saw each letter appear. She listened to the gurgling as Rusty tried to scream. She watched Danny. And she _hated_.

Everything good burned out of the world.

* * *

When he was finished, the knife burnt a hole through his palm. He threw it away and sat back on his heels and looked down at what he'd done. The cuts were long but shallow. Four letters. He'd staked his claim.

_Mine_.

And it took so much, but he looked into Rusty's eyes, and there was so much he needed to say, but it was getting harder and harder to reach behind the pain, and this needed to end, this needed to be over. He'd never known they had a breaking point.

"Very good, Mr Ocean." Hairmyres' voice came from ever so far away, and Danny was glad that he'd thrown away the knife, because if he'd been holding it then he'd have thrown himself at the bastard, just to get one lucky chance, and none of them would have survived that. "You have neat handwriting,"

He nodded and didn't look round.

"You can go back to the sofa now. Doubtless Mrs Ocean is missing you."

He obeyed. Tess wouldn't look at him. Wouldn't meet his eyes. He could see the horror in her face.

There was blood on his hands. He wiped it off on his shirt.

"Just a few last things," Hairmyres went on, and he made a gesture and Marmaduke and Todd grinned and stepped forwards and Danny screamed, inside and out.

They were stamping on Rusty. Crushing him. Jumping on him. On his stomach; on his chest; on his hips, his thighs, his knees, his legs and feet; and Danny heard bones break and he saw bones twist and hadn't it been enough?

"Why?" he screamed at Hairmyres. "I did everything you wanted!"

Tess threw herself against his shoulder and he held her tightly and he didn't know if she was trying to comfort him or if she just couldn't stand watching any more.

"I promised you alive and free. I never said anything about whole." Hairmyres voice was casual. This was nothing to him. "Listen to me, Mr Ocean. You were never here. I assume you'll want to take Mr Ryan to the hospital, I assume the police will take an interest. I assure you, they can't touch me. No-one can. But if I even think anyone's taking an interest, my boys will take Mrs Ocean and they'll do everything they just did to Mr Ryan, and after that they'll see how long they can keep her alive and they will do it all over again. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes," he whispered, and he held Tess that bit closer.

Impossibly, Rusty managed to prop himself up on one elbow. Managed to find Danny, to look straight at Danny. And he was looking for something, and he was trying to say something, and there was a flicker of love, a hint of promise, and Danny didn't see the kick. But he saw Rusty's head snap sideways. He saw the light in Rusty's eyes die. He watched him slump down, watched the blood trickle from his ear.

This was the way it ended.

* * *

They'd been dragged out to a van and thrown into the back. He'd sat, pressed next to Tess, his arm tight around her shoulders. She'd been shaking too hard; he could feel it. He didn't look at her. Didn't take his eyes off the figure wrapped in blood-stained plastic sheeting, thrown carelessly on the ground. Rusty hadn't moved. Danny hadn't been sure he was breathing. And the men with guns wouldn't let him check; he had to stay sitting next to Tess, trying to offer comfort when he had none to give.

Eventually they'd been thrown out into a dirty alley in the wrong area of town. The van had screeched off, and Danny had torn away the plastic, and somehow Rusty had looked even worse than he'd remembered. He'd heard Tess moan, and he'd reached out a shaky hand and checked for a pulse. It was there. Barely. And Rusty was breathing. Slightly. And he'd told Tess to stay there, and he'd run out into a street dominated by strip clubs and adult stores, and he'd ran through the nearest door and had demanded a phone and the street address off the startled proprietor. He'd phoned 911. Kept his voice steady. Given all the details they asked for. Begged them to hurry. Then he'd refused the drink the suddenly sympathetic man had offered him and stumbled back outside. Back to Rusty. Back to Tess.

The ambulance arrived quickly, the paramedics took charge, and Danny could see the shock and horror through the efficiency. Some things were always unexpected. They'd been quick and they'd been efficient, but they hadn't let him ride with Rusty. They'd pushed him back, politely. Back towards Tess, who had been sobbing silently. Still shaking. Still terrified. They'd suggested he should stay with her and he hadn't been able to say no.

He'd chosen her, after all.

* * *

He decided to steal a wallet, rather than a car, and he gave the cab driver a small fortune to get to the hospital as fast as possible. The guy had looked at his face, had looked at Tess, and had put his foot down. Danny was vaguely amazed they hadn't been pulled over. And even despite that, when they got to the hospital, Rusty was already in surgery.

There were hard chairs in the waiting area. A junior doctor brought them coffee and forms.

Rusty had died.

Rusty had died in the ambulance. For almost six minutes.

Rusty had died and Danny hadn't been there.

Rusty had died. Danny had killed him.

And Danny couldn't think about that now. There were forms. And Tess was shaking and Tess was crying (_and Rusty was dying._) He put his arm round her again. "It's going to be all right," he promised. "Everything's going to be fine."

She didn't seem to believe him.

He stared at the box that asked for his relationship to Rusty for a very long time. (_Betrayer. Attacker. Rapist. Murderer_.) In the end he left it blank. An oversight.

He handed the forms back in and waited.

After a moment the junior doctor came scuttling back.

"What's going on?" Danny demanded, begged. "What's happening?"

She looked apologetic and sympathetic and helpless. "I'm sorry. If you're not relatives, I can't give you any information."

"I'm next of kin," Danny explained. "I've got medical proxy, power of attorney. It's all legal."

She looked startled, and he could see her wanting to ask. Wanting to know why they'd have something like that set up. But they had to. Because they'd been here before. (_Not this bad, never this bad_,_ nothing had ever been this bad._) A long time ago they'd set everything up and they'd never discussed why. Play the game and never admit that you might lose.

"Well," the doctor said hesitantly. "Soon as we have a copy of those forms we can tell you everything."

He was already standing up. "Do you have a phone? I need to call our lawyer."

"It's down the hall, but," She blinked. "Sir, Mr Ocean, it's the middle of the night."

"Yeah," he agreed.

"Your lawyer will be asleep." She was trying to be the voice of reason. He could tell. But there was no reason here. No reasons for any of it.

He shrugged. "I'll wake her up."

He looked back at Tess, to reassure, to apologise for leaving, even for a moment, but he didn't think she saw him. He didn't think she meant the accusation in her eyes either. He didn't think. But everything she knew about the world had cracked, had broken, and it was all his fault.

The phone rang forever. Danny didn't hang up. Didn't know what he was supposed to do if she didn't answer. Finally, finally there was a click and a sleep, angry voice. "Something better be on fire."

"Catherine? It's Danny. Danny Ocean." He still sounded like himself. He wondered how that had happened.

There was a sigh. "Danny. Please tell me you're not calling me from prison right now."

He ignored her. Barely understood her, if he was being honest. "I need you to fax over those documents. The medical proxy, the power of attorney – all that stuff. Fax number is 410 955 3809."

The barest of pauses. She was awake now. "I wish you were calling me from prison right now."

"Catherine, please," he said quietly.

"I'm putting my shoes on as we speak, I'll be in the office in twenty minutes, you'll have them in twenty five." Her voice was quick and reassuring.

He wasn't reassured. But he was grateful. "Thank you."

"You need anything else?" she asked casually. "Want me to call anyone?"

"No," he answered definitely.

There was a pause. "Danny?" He thought she was walking downstairs. He could hear high heels on wood, the sound of a door opening.

"Yeah?" he answered, cautiously

She hesitated. "How is he?"

Danny didn't even hesitate. He lied and told himself he wasn't. "He's going to be fine."

"Good." Her relief was obvious.

"Twenty five minutes?"

"You've got it," she promised.

He hung up and went back to Tess.

There were two cops hovering over her, and a doctor giving her an injection. He started running. "Get away from my wife!" He'd left her. He'd left her, just for a second, and it had been too long and he'd failed again.

The doctor stood up. "Calm down, sir," he said sharply. The cops turned and looked intimidating.

Danny ignored them. "What did you give her?" he demanded.

"A mild sedative," the doctor said patiently. "She was hysterical."

He winced. "Tess . . . " He slumped next to her, ran his fingers through her hair. "Tess."

"Mr Ocean?" The cop sounded apologetic. "We need to ask you a few questions."

He'd been expecting that. "Of course," he nodded.

They'd had plans to meet Rusty. Rusty hadn't shown up, so he and Tess had gone looking. They'd found him like that. No, he hadn't seen anything suspicious. No, he couldn't imagine who would possibly do such a thing. No, Rusty didn't have any enemies.

The cops left, seeming less than satisfied. Which was a shame; he'd given an Oscar winning performance. He'd acted horrified and outraged and distraught. He had to act. Had to. Because if he let himself feel those things; if he gave in to the emotions that were raging just below the surface, then there'd be no going back. And he wasn't done yet.

If the cops weren't satisfied then they might put two and two together and come up with Hairmyres. And if that happened, Hairmyres would be upset. And he'd come after Tess. He couldn't let that happen. Couldn't.

He ran through a mental list of the people they trusted. Who was closest? Who could do it? Who wouldn't ask questions? In the end it came down to one name, and he hoped that Bobby and Molly would forgive him.

"Tess?" He shook her arm gently. "Tess, I'm going to call Linus. Have him take you somewhere safe. Just for a few days. Just until I know it's safe."

She turned to him with vacant eyes, but after a few moments she understood and she shook her head frantically. "Danny, no."

"I have to stay here," he told her. "You understand that."

She bit her lip. "Let me stay with you. Please, Danny."

"I can't." His voice was soft and regretful and it wasn't enough, so he had to use threats. "I can't risk losing you. If you won't go with Linus then we'll both have to leave and I won't be here for Rusty. Please, Tess. Please let me be here for Rusty."

There was a flash of devastation in her eyes, but she nodded.

He smiled at her. "Thank you," he whispered.

"Danny." She squeezed his hand and he knew she was planning on talking about the things that he couldn't talk about. "Danny – "

" – I need to go call Linus," he interrupted hastily, and he headed back to the payphone.

Linus answered quicker than Catherine had. And he sounded worried straight off the bat. Mind you, he always did. "Hey, kid it's Danny. I need a favour and you can't ask me why."

"Anything," Linus promised and part of Danny wanted to scream at him, to tell him how stupid that was.

"I need you to look after Tess for a few days. Just until something blows over. Just take her somewhere safe and don't tell me where you're going."

"Is everything all right, Danny?" Linus asked hesitantly.

Such a stupid, stupid question. "It will be," Danny promised. "Everything will be fine in a few days. Just being careful."

"Good." Linus sounded like he wanted to be convinced. "Is Rusty there? You calling anyone else?"

The last thing he wanted was anyone else involved in this. "No," he answered, finally and he rested his head against the coolness of the wall and the receiver was heavy in his hand. "Look, I'm sorry I can't tell you anything, but - "

" - Don't worry about it, Danny." The kid's voice was eager. Confused, concerned, worried as hell, but eager and Danny wondered what it was like to be that alive. "I trust you, you know that."

For a moment he thought he was going to lose it. For a moment he thought it was all going to come tumbling out and he was going to scream and howl and rage and die. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Don't." He didn't recognise his own voice. "Don't you do it. Don't ever trust me, Linus. Promise me that." He closed his eyes and ignored the splutterings of incomprehension and fear. "I'll see you in a couple of hours," he said finally, and hung up.

* * *

Three hours later he walked Tess out to the front door and nodded at Linus. "Thank you."

"Of course, Danny. I'll look after her." Linus' voice was soft and sincere.

Danny smiled slightly and turned to Tess. Her eyes were glazed over and he didn't know if it was the drugs or . . . He swallowed hard and didn't try to look deeper. "Everything's going to be fine, Tess. We'll see you in a few days."

She clung tightly to his arm and nodded and he gently pushed her towards Linus who was looking uncomfortable.

"Danny . . .?" he began, uncertainly.

"I'll call you when I know something," Danny promised.

He watched them walk away and went back inside before he saw what car Linus was driving. He didn't want to know anything. Just in case.

* * *

Time passed. At least he thought it did. Night and day merged together, over and over again. Doctors changed. Nurses came and went. He sat on the hard wooden chair and let a thousand cups of coffee grow cold and waited. And waited. And waited, and hated, and didn't let himself think and didn't let himself know and didn't let himself remember.

The doctors came by from time to time. Explained what was happening. He nodded, as they gently told him about all the injuries he'd inflicted. And every time he forced himself to look shocked and horrified and the memories screamed across his mind.

Time passed and it was hell.

They let him in to see Rusty. Three times. From a distance. See, not touch. Rusty only existed in a bubble of drugs and oxygen and machines keeping him breathing, keeping his heart beating. And he was still and silent and small. They'd shaved his head and there wasn't a patch of flesh that wasn't bruised or cut or torn or burned.

Danny looked at what he'd done and wished Rusty would open his eyes.

The doctor from before stood at his shoulder. The sympathetic one who understood nothing. He'd spoken to her so many times over the past few days, and he hadn't remembered her name once. Her voice was soft. "He hasn't woken up yet."

Danny smiled tightly at her. "If he was awake right now, I'd be having to talk him out of flirting with three nurses at once. I'd be trying to persuade him that hospital food won't kill him. And every day, I'd need to convince him not to sign out AMA. Trust me, when he wakes up, you'll miss the peace and quiet."

She looked as though she wanted to say something, but it seemed as though something in his face stopped her. She patted him sympathetically on the arm and fell silent.

Five more times he watched them rush Rusty from the ICU to the operating theatre and back again. Eight more times he heard them tell him that Rusty had died. Three times he saw the crash cart, heard the shouting, saw the paddles, the shock, and waited, frozen, until Rusty's heart started beating again.

Time passed and he waited and there was only one thought in his head.

_Don't leave me. Please don't leave me. Please, please, please, please, please._

_Rusty._

He'd never been so alone in his life.

* * *

She didn't know where she was. She didn't care either.

There had been a drive that could have lasted hours, or days, or seconds. Linus had been quiet, stealing glances at her, not asking the questions. She'd barely known he was there.

They'd checked into a hotel and he'd produced passports from nowhere, and suddenly she was a French fashion designer, and Linus was her personal assistant, and he'd taken care of everything, and they'd gone upstairs and somehow there'd been luggage, and in the luggage somehow there had been everything that she'd need for the next few days and she'd stood and looked down at the open suitcase and she'd started crying.

Linus had apologised. For what, she didn't know.

Days went by. She spent most of her time sleeping. And she dreamt. Every time she closed her eyes – every time she didn't close her eyes – there was blood, and pain, and Rusty screaming and Danny's voice, always Danny's voice. "_I want you to hurt Rusty_." "_I want you to strip him_." "_I want you to burn his right arm._" "_His left hand. Make it his left hand_._ I want you to._" "_I_ _want . . _." "_I want . . ._ " It happened again and again and again, playing over and over and over, in front of her eyes, and she was no more allowed to look away then than she had been the first time.

She slept. She stared at the TV. She listened to Linus' faltering attempts to make conversation. (_She thought of Danny. She thought of Rusty. She cried_.)

* * *

He watched the detectives walk away. Seemed as though they understood each other now. They'd apologised, indirectly and uncomfortably, and he'd made it clear that he understood. That this was what he _wanted_.

The police weren't looking for anyone. Someone high up had declared it an unfortunate accident. A night of drugs and perverted sex games and something had gone wrong. (_Screaming. Fury. Hate, hate, hate_.) They'd picked up; and almost immediately released; a guy from the local leather bar. And five days after . . . five days after Rusty got hurt, the case had been declared unsolved and unimportant. Hairmyres was safe. And that meant they were safe too. Him, Tess and Rusty. Safe. He managed to fight down the urge to giggle hysterically.

Hairmyres wouldn't be coming after them. That was what he needed to focus on. And that meant that he had to make the two phone calls that he didn't want to make.

He found himself back at the payphone, leaning against the cold wall. Tess and Linus first.

The phone was answered almost immediately. "Danny! Please tell me that's you this time." Linus sounded frantic and Danny's heart was in his mouth.

"It's me. What's happened?" he demanded.

"What?" Linus suddenly seemed to realise what he'd said. "No, nothing's happened, but you said a few days and it's been five, and I – we – were getting worried."

He forced himself to sound calm and casual. Cool and collected. Amused, even. The way they always were when dealing with Linus. "No need. Everything's fine now. Could you give Tess a lift back?"

"Danny?" Linus' voice was quiet.

"Yeah, kid?" Danny answered, already dreading.

"How's Rusty?"

Danny didn't say anything. The silence stretched out.

"Tess didn't say anything," Linus babbled on. "But I picked you up from the hospital, and you looked . . . and Tess is . . . and someone had to be . . . and you called _me_."

"Yeah," Danny said softly.

Linus paused again. "How is he, Danny?" he asked again.

Danny considered hanging up the phone.

"Danny?"

"He got hurt," Danny explained calmly. "I need to tell Saul." There was a noise that might have been a sob, and Danny couldn't bear it. "You should call your parents more often, Linus."

"What?" Linus' voice was incredulous.

"Molly was saying, last time we saw her." She'd been smiling when she said it. Not like she wasn't proud. But she'd sounded lonely.

"Danny . . . " Linus trailed off. "Do you want to talk to Tess? I think she's asleep right now, but I could wake her."

"No," he said firmly. There'd be time enough, and he didn't want to hear pain and the accusation and the fracture over a distance. Not when he couldn't do anything about it. "Let her rest."

Linus sighed. "Danny? Is Rusty going to be all right?"

That was easier. "Course he will. We're always all right." He smiled slightly and spoke sincerely. "See you soon, Linus. And _thank you_."

He hung up the phone. Stared at it for a long time. Willed himself to dial the other number.

"Yes?" Saul's voice, and Danny couldn't think of anything to say. He wished he'd practiced this, wished he'd thought about this, wished . . . "Who's there?" Saul sounded annoyed. Impatient.

"Hi, Saul," Danny said quietly.

"What's happened?" Saul demanded immediately, and Danny wondered if he'd ever even dreamed that Saul wouldn't be able to tell instantly. "Danny, what's wrong?"

"There's been . . . " He didn't even know the word. There were no words for what had happened. He tried again. "I fucked up, Saul. I fucked up and Rusty's in hospital. Baltimore. John Hopkins." He swallowed. "You should get here."

"How bad is it?" Saul asked hoarsely, after the slightest pause.

"It's not . . . " . . . _Hands that were dark and shapeless and unrecognisable, legs twisted and bent in all the wrong ways, burnt flesh that would never heal, still and silent and small and dead, blood, blood, blood everywhere_ . . . "I'm just waiting for him to wake up," he said, and he hated the tremor in his voice.

"I'll be there as soon as possible, Danny," Saul promised, and he sounded old and frightened.

"Please." His own voice was almost unrecognisable and he realised that he was rapidly losing the fight to stay in control.

"Oh, Danny." It wasn't 'Everything's going to be all right'. It wasn't 'Don't worry'. It wasn't even 'How could you let this happen'. It just was what it was, and Saul would be there soon, and Danny would have to find some way to look him in the eye.

He hung up the phone gently and walked back to his seat and sipped at his cold coffee and waited. And waited.

* * *

She clung to Danny and couldn't let go. He wouldn't look at her. There was a coldness between them and she couldn't reach anything she recognised.

She couldn't blame him for hating her. She'd said no.

She was with Danny and she was alone and it was still going on every time she closed her eyes.

* * *

It took seven hours for Saul to get to the hospital. Seven hours he spent preparing himself; terrified of what he was going to find. He knew Danny had lied to him. Well, not lied exactly. But even though Danny hadn't given any details, he'd sounded lost. He'd sounded dead. And no matter how many times Saul closed his eyes and wished and hoped, no matter how many silent prayers he offered up, he couldn't change what that meant.

The hospital waiting area was just like every other one he'd ever been in. It smelt of soap and disinfectant, of fear and death. Linus was the only one who looked up when he walked in, and his expression was one of relief and confusion and downright terror. Saul studied him for a couple of seconds, surprised that he was there at all. Linus caught him looking and shrugged helplessly and Saul nodded. Linus had no idea what was going on.

He walked past Tess, curled up tightly on the chair, staring at her hands as though they were the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen. He tried to catch her eye, to work out what she was doing here, because the boys would never have got her caught up in whatever they were doing, but if she came out after, to support Danny, then she'd be being a little more supportive and a little less shell shocked.

Danny didn't look up, even when Saul put a hand on his shoulder and called his name. It seemed to take a few moments for him to fully realise that Saul was there.

When he did look up, and blink, he tried to smile. "Hi, Saul."

"Danny." Saul made his voice gentle and his hand comforting. He seriously doubted it helped any. "How is he?"

Danny's almost-smile flickered slightly. "Just waiting for him to wake up."

Saul nodded and looked at Danny's rumpled clothing (_there was blood on his shirt_) and the dark shadows under his eyes, and the stack of empty polystyrene cups. "How long have you been waiting?" he asked quietly.

"Five days." Danny seemed to shrink into himself a little. Saul said nothing, but he sat down heavily on the next seat and put an arm around Danny's shoulders and hugged him tightly. Five days. Oh, god. "I'm sorry I didn't call before, Saul. I didn't want to bring anyone else into it until I knew it was safe."

"Don't worry about that now," Saul said, despite the fact that he'd give anything to have been there five days ago and oh, so much more, to have been there six days ago. He took a deep breath and tried to prepare himself. "Where is he hurt?"

Danny shook his head helplessly. Tess spoke up. "Everywhere." Her voice shook, and Saul _knew_ then, without a doubt that she'd seen so much more than anyone had ever meant her to. There was a note of desperation and hopelessness in her voice that told him almost as much as the ache in Danny's had earlier.

"What happened?" he asked gently, looking from one to the other. Danny took to staring at his shoes. Tess turned away as though she hadn't heard. He focussed on Danny. "Danny?"

"The police say it was an accident." Danny's voice was almost inaudible.

"That's not what I asked," Saul pointed out, but he sighed, because Danny was right; they shouldn't be talking about it in such a public place. "I want to see him."

* * *

Saul stared at Rusty for a very long time and wondered how things came to this, and if there was anything he could have said or done, long ago, to stop it. He hadn't recognised Rusty at first. Hadn't been sure that the doctor had led them to the right room. There hadn't been much there to recognise, and once he'd been able to look past the swollen and the purple and the red and the black, he'd seen the bright burns around the mouth, and he'd seen the hands, pulverised and immobilised and he'd had to clutch tightly to Danny's arm to keep from falling.

Danny hadn't said anything. Danny wouldn't look away from the bed.

Saul had thought he'd understood. He thought he'd understood that Rusty might die. He'd thought he'd understood that there was a good chance that Danny had called him to give him a chance to say his goodbyes.

He hadn't understood anything.

Danny had introduced him to the doctors as Rusty's father. Saul wasn't exactly sure why, but it made things easier. It meant that when the doctor in charge – Doctor Schulman, Saul thought his name was, said he wanted to talk to Danny, Saul could come along too. And it meant that he could sit in front of the man's desk and look at him, and not have to come up with excuses for every inch of devastation and distress. "Tell me everything," he said, in a soft voice, and he was aware of Danny tensing beside him.

Schulman looked uncomfortable. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Tell me. Now," he growled, "Tell me everything and don't sugar coat it," and of course the man must have seen a thousand distraught parents, and still he crumbled.

The words mostly washed over Saul. Bits and pieces penetrating through the haze of pain.

"_. . . Admitted with a wide range of extensive injuries . . . "_

He wished he didn't have to listen.

" _. . . major blunt force trauma to the legs, hands, chest and abdomen . . . "_

He wished he didn't have to understand.

" _. . . severe internal injuries . . . "_

He really did.

" _. . . clinical death . . . "_

He wished he could just scream.

" _. . . total splenectomy, partial removal of the liver . . . "_

Scream and scream and never stop, because this man in the nice suit and the white coat was talking about injuries and Saul was _seeing._

" _. . . extensive orthopaedic surgery, over the next month or two, so that in the event of . . . we are confident of restoring a certain amount of utility to both hands and legs . . . "_

Oh, God, Saul was seeing what had happened.

" _. . . severe burns across the right arm, the torso and abdomen and especially to the genitals and the mouth and throat . . . "_

What had happened.

" _. . . massive scarring . . . loss of function and sensation . . ."_

What happened.

" _. . . evidence of sexual assault . . . "_

Rusty.

" _. . . as well as superficial lacerations to the chest, apparently intended to spell out a word."_

Saul closed his eyes and fought down the most overwhelming emotions. He glanced over at Danny, who'd already known it all, and he saw the echo of pain and the tremor of memory. Oh, god. Reaching over, he squeezed Danny's hand, but Danny wouldn't look at him.

"What word?" he asked, because despite all things he had to know.

Schulman looked even more uncomfortable. "Well, I'm not sure," he bluffed, and he was an awful liar.

"Mine," Danny said quietly, staring down at his shoes. His voice was blank. "Says 'mine'."

Saul bit his lip and tasted blood. Someone was going to die. Schulman handed him a glass of water silently, and Saul drank it and watched his hands shake, and after a long moment he looked back up and saw the hesitation and the apology. "What else?" he asked the doctor.

"That was what I needed to tell Mr Ocean about today. As you know, Mr Ryan suffered a severe head injury. We repaired a major bleed to the brain, but between the initial damage and the long period of oxygen starvation, I'm afraid the prognosis isn't good. The swelling has gone down enough for our scans to be effective." He paused. "I'm sorry. I really am. There's evidence of extensive brain damage. He's in a coma now."

Saul gripped the edge of the chair and he could feel a little more of his world crumbling away. Danny's voice seemed to come from very far away. "So when will he wake up?"

Schulman sighed. "Mr Ocean . . . _if_ Mr Ryan wakes up I need you to understand that he won't be the same. There's a good chance of severe impairment to cognitive and emotional functioning, possible memory loss, personality changes . . ." He held up an MRI image that meant nothing to Saul. "When we're talking about this sort of damage, in all probability, were Mr Ryan to wake up, he would never be able to function well enough to live outside an institution."

Saul tried not to imagine. Tried not to let the doctor's words paint a picture in his mind. Tried not to let the horror take him.

And Schulman kept talking. "Coupled to the physical damage," _(Hands that would never deal cards again, legs that would never walk properly again, pain on pain on pain.)_ "Well, his quality of life would be . . ." He shrugged, discomfort obvious, and Saul was glad he hadn't finished the sentence. They shouldn't be hoping for Rusty to wake up. They should be hoping for a quiet ending. And Saul didn't know how to stand that.

"But when will he wake up?" Danny asked again and Saul reached out and gripped his arm.

"Daniel," he scolded softly, helplessly.

Danny's eyes were on Schulman. Desperate and uncomprehending. "When will he wake up?"

Schulman sighed. "If – _if_ - he wakes up, and you have to understand, we aren't thinking that's likely, it could be anytime. Months or even years."

"Or today," Danny said quietly. Saul blinked.

"That's not . . ." Schulman began but Danny interrupted.

"You said anytime, that could be today."

"In all probability – " Schulman tried.

Danny wasn't having any of it. "But it is possible."

"Yes," Schulman admitted, and Saul could have hit him. "Anything is possible."

Danny stood up to leave. "Thank you, doctor," he said sincerely.

Saul made to follow and caught the look that the doctor gave him. The request to explain the situation to Danny in some way he could understand. Saul wasn't entirely certain that was possible. And he had other things to talk about first.

They didn't go back to the waiting area. Saul led Danny into the first empty office he found and sat him down.

"What happened, Daniel?" he asked gently.

Danny looked at him blankly. "You heard the doctor."

Saul was patient. "Who did it, then?"

There was a long, long silence. "I did," Danny finally whispered and the truth and the agony in his voice was enough to freeze Saul's blood.

He couldn't let Danny believe that. He knew all about guilt and shock and he couldn't let it destroy Danny. For Rusty's sake, as much as anything. "You mustn't blame yourself," he said quietly.

Danny laughed wildly. "I don't mean it was my fault, Saul. I mean I did it. You know how I know what's written on his chest? _I wrote it._ He gave me the knife and I looked into Rusty's eyes and I . . . I . . ." He broke off and stood up violently from the chair. "I cut him. I hurt him. And they didn't do a thing to him that I didn't ask them to. I asked them to hit him, to burn him. I asked them to . . . to break his hands. I asked them to rape him, Saul."

Saul stared in horror. He was vaguely aware that at some point he'd sunk down onto the other chair. He could hardly breathe. And he closed his eyes and with superhuman effort, he let go of the bud of overwhelming anger and outrage and concentrated on what he knew. His friends. His boys, his children. DannyandRusty. Together. Always. He opened his eyes and looked at Danny. "What happened?" he asked, and there was no hint of blame in his voice, only compassion.

"He was angry with me. Jonathan Hairmyres." Saul knew the name. Knew the reputation. "A long time ago, I . . . it doesn't matter. But he's got a long memory. And he had Tess and Rusty and he stood me in front of them and he asked me to choose."

Saul stood up and silently walked over to him. Put a hand on his shoulder. He understood now. The pain. The cruelty.

"I chose Tess, Saul." Danny's voice was a whisper. "I couldn't let them hurt her. And he asked me again and again, every time . . . and I still chose her."

Not the whole story. He knew them. "Whose decision was it, Danny?" he asked.

"Mine," Danny said immediately. "He gave me the choice."

But that wasn't the way they worked. "Whose decision?"

"You think he gave us time to talk it over first?" Danny demanded.

Saul sighed. "Since when did you two need words to talk?"

Danny bit his lip and turned to face Saul and there was endless suffering in his eyes, and he hadn't left the hell he'd found himself in for over five days now and Saul doubted he'd ever find the way out. "We agreed," he admitted. "We decided this was best."

"You didn't know it was going to be this," Saul said immediately.

There was a short, bitter laugh. "You think if I'd known, it would be Tess lying in there?"

"No," Saul admitted. He tried to gather his thoughts together. Tried to make Danny see. "Don't you think if it was you lying in there I'd be having this conversation with Rusty right now? You think if it was you lying in there you'd be wanting _him_ to blame himself?"

"I know what I did, Saul." Danny shook his head. "I asked them to hurt him. I hurt him."

"What Hairmyres did," Saul corrected. "What Hairmyres made you do. You think there are any other circumstances – "

Danny interrupted, eyes cold. " – you think you're going to win this argument?"

He sighed. "No." He didn't. Because he did know them. He couldn't see any way that Danny was going to move past the guilt and the blame and the self-hatred. And he couldn't imagine how it felt, and he couldn't try if he wanted to have any chance of holding it together.

Danny walked towards the door. "I know what I did, Saul."

Desperate for one last attempt, Saul called after him. "I don't blame you. Rusty didn't blame you. Would never blame you."

It was true. (_Almost true_.) And Danny didn't answer.

They walked back to the waiting area and Saul put his arm on Danny's just before he sat down again. Linus and Tess both looked up anxiously, and Saul ignored them. "I think you should take a break for tonight, Danny. Get some sleep in a real bed. Take care of Tess. Let me arrange a hotel room for you."

Danny didn't look at him. "I need to stay here."

"You need rest," Saul told him, gently.

"I need to stay here," Danny repeated and Saul had to do something.

"Daniel," he said firmly. "You need to sleep. You need to shower. You need to eat." Danny wasn't holding it together. Not any way it mattered, and if it went on like this any longer both of them would be in hospital. Saul couldn't let that happen.

"I've been eating," Danny objected.

Saul glanced down to the empty coffee cups and the half eaten bag of corn chips and sighed in weary frustration. "You can't live on bad coffee and the contents of vending machines."

"Oh, I think we disproved that a long time ago." Danny smiled slightly and Saul was suddenly put in mind of other times and other waiting rooms and coffee and corn chips and anxiety and giddy relief, and he wished that Danny could admit that this time was different.

"Danny," And the grief and screaming anger and pain and loss welled up inside him and made his voice sharper than he'd ever meant it. "Take a break. I'll be staying right here, and you can come back first thing in the morning."

Danny's gaze was hard. "I need to be here. The doctor said Rusty could wake up any time now."

He caught the relief on Tess and Linus' faces out of the corner of his eye, and he hated it. Hated it. And even more, he hated having to be the one to destroy the moment of peace. "No, Danny, he didn't. I'm so sorry. He didn't."

There was a long, long silence. And Saul was certain that he was the only one who heard Danny's whisper. "I need him to wake up."

Saul reached out a hand and squeezed his shoulder tightly and thought of laughter and recklessness; of charm and grace; of endless joy and eternal loyalty and two lives that burned brighter and closer than anything else he'd ever known. And he thought of Danny, lost and hurting and wounded and inconceivably diminished, and he thought of Rusty, maimed and broken and _gone_ . . .

Gone.

That's what the doctor had meant. Rusty was gone. Saul was never going to see him smile again. Was never going to hear his voice again. Was never going to see the shine as he and Danny spun the impossible.

It was over and Saul pulled Danny close, and he cried.

Danny didn't.

* * *

Days turned into weeks turned into months and Danny existed.

People started coming by as soon as people started hearing. Saul and Linus took care of gently breaking the news. It was easier when Danny didn't have to actually say the words. Just had to handle the sympathy and the understanding that wasn't, because how could anyone understand?

Reuben and Frank and Turk and Virgil and Livingston and Basher and Yen. Bobby and Molly. And Roman and Matsui and Catherine and Stan and a dozen others. Terry Benedict sent flowers. Turk took them out to the parking lot and ran them over a few dozen times.

But so many people. Rusty's friends. Danny's friends. DannyandRusty's friends. All the people who loved them. All the people they loved.

None of them knew what to say, struggling in the face of the pain and the unimagined.

Danny and Rusty didn't lose. Everyone knew that. And now they had, and like everything else they'd ever done, they'd taken it just that bit further than anyone else could ever have dreamt.

And Danny endured the helpless and the hopeless, the sympathy and the hugs and the promises. Anything he needed. (_He didn't ask them for the one thing he needed. He'd never been that cruel_.) And Hairmyres' name was mentioned so often, and Danny didn't ask. He knew that no-one was talking about the rules.

Days and weeks and months and nothing changed and the doctors' expressions said nothing ever would. (_Danny told himself that they just didn't know Rusty_.) Bruises faded then vanished completely. Cuts and burns faded into scars. Surgeries set bones into approximations of their rightful places. It hurt Danny every time he saw. He never looked away. Rusty never woke up.

Gradually, apologetically, miserably, people started to drift away. Danny understood and he didn't try to keep them. They had their own lives to lead. And he knew they had plans to plan.

Things were settled now. Danny spent his days with Rusty in the hospital and his nights with Tess in the comfortable flat Linus had obtained for them.

He couldn't say the things he needed to say to either of them.

And he'd never hear the things he needed to hear.

* * *

Tess didn't like to leave the house anymore.

In the daytime she stayed indoors, kept the curtains shut and drifted from room to room in a world without conversation, a world without people.

In the evenings, she and Danny talked like perfect strangers, polite and distant.

At night she woke screaming and crying and Danny held her tightly in the dark, and spoke to her and loved her. She would cling to him desperately until she fell asleep again. In the morning he'd be gone.

She thought that he had dreams too.

He never screamed.

He never cried.

She never asked.

* * *

Isabel arrived unexpectedly. She'd been white faced and her eyes had been swollen and bloodshot. She hadn't even looked at Danny, standing outside the room, arguing with a doctor again. She'd marched straight into the room and closed the door firmly behind her.

It had been a long, long time since Danny had seen her. Not since before Bank, and he'd known then it wasn't going to last. But he should have understood, that didn't mean she didn't love him.

It was twenty minutes before she reappeared and leant heavily against the wall. Danny thought she was crying. He put a hand on her shoulder, and she spun round and started screaming at him in French. He recognised the fury, even if he didn't know the words, and he let it wash over him and he didn't know why. Didn't know if she was angry with him for what had happened, or for not telling her, or if she was just angry and desperate for someone to blame. She couldn't possibly know she'd found the right person.

Eventually she shouted herself out, and she stood, staring at him, shaking, trembling. He didn't know what to do. Didn't have a thing to say. And then she hugged him suddenly, and whispered "I'm sorry," and she was gone.

He never saw her again.

* * *

Rusty woke up. Everyone came back.

In any other world Danny would have been oh, so happy.

When he'd dreamt of Rusty waking up – and he did dream of it, every night that he wasn't back on Hairmyres' sofa watching his world end in blood and pain and tears – when he'd dreamt of it, it had been very different.

He'd been there for a start. He'd be there, holding Rusty's hand and right in the middle of a story, maybe, yes, right when he was reminding Rusty of that little fiasco in Portland and Rusty would suddenly open his eyes and point out that _he_ hadn't been the one holding the fish. And Danny would be speechless, and so, so happy, and Rusty would smile at him. (_The scars were never there in the dream. Rusty was perfect_. _Whole_.) And okay, so it would take time. But by the next week (at the very most) they'd be eating pizza that Danny had smuggled past the nurses, watching daytime TV, and Rusty would be demanding to know when Danny was going to spring him.

It didn't happen like that.

He wasn't even there. 5:30 in the morning, give or take. Rusty woke up alone. (_And some part of Danny would always wonder._) Some nurse was the first to notice. Nothing dramatic, Danny was told later. Eyes open. Quiet noises of distress. Of pain. Danny wasn't there. They called him four hours later. And no matter what they said on the phone, no matter what Tess said as he ran out of the house, no matter what the consultant said over and over again before letting him in to see Rusty, he'd been expecting to see Rusty looking at him. He'd been expecting to see the recognition, the memories dawn. He'd been expecting to see the smile, the eternal promise of the unconditional, the sign that the nightmare was over. He'd been expecting to see Rusty.

He stepped into the room, hope singing through him. Rusty had been half sat up in bed, propped up by a pile of pillows. He didn't look round when Danny came in. "Rus'," Danny breathed, and he waited so long for a response, and still he didn't stop hoping, and he walked round to the other side of the bed, perched on the edge of the chair, put himself at eye level and _saw_.

The eyes were blank. Dull. The mouth was slack. Lifeless.

There was nothing of Rusty here. Nothing that Danny could see.

With every last shred of control and composure he'd ever had or ever would have, he forced an encouraging, happy smile. "Nice to see you awake at last," he said brightly. "You've been redefining lazy."

There wasn't the smallest hint of comprehension on Rusty's face. No sign that he'd heard, let alone understood. No sign that he knew who Danny was, or why he was there. Or even _if_ he was there.

Danny nodded to himself and reached out and laid a gentle hand over Rusty's misshapen one. "You haven't missed much, to be honest." He carried on talking. What else could he do? "Turk and Virgil bought another racetrack, but Basher crashed a remote control Zeppelin into it, and apparently between the three of them they've driven four insurance investigators into early retirement." It suddenly occurred to him that Rusty probably couldn't even feel Danny's hand on his, so he moved and started lightly stroking Rusty's forearm instead. "Oh, and Linus met a girl. Completely failed to get anywhere though. Apparently she thought he was gay." He sighed and traced his thumb down Rusty's tattoo. "You know, maybe in-between safes and disguises and cold reading and self confidence we should have taken time to teach him about women." He paused. Listened. And when there were no words he watched for the unspoken, and when there was no anything, he nodded as though there was. "You're right. If he took our example, chances are _everyone_ would think he was gay."

There was a long, long, silence. Danny concentrated on keeping breathing. Keeping his heart beating. Wasn't as easy as it used to be. "Anytime you want to say something I'll be listening," he said, suddenly and quickly. "Please, Rus'. Just talk to me."

He waited. For a very, very long time.

* * *

The others came and he watched their optimism die. He watched them walk into the little room in ones and twos and he watched them walk back, hopes crushed.

Linus, shaking and trying his damndest not to let Danny see him crying.

Basher, looking bewildered as though he just couldn't understand what was happening, his arm around Livingston's shoulders. Livingston himself was pale and silent and couldn't meet anyone's eyes.

Yen talked quietly for ten minutes, seemingly without taking a breath. No one translated. Then he stepped outside and made a methodical attempt to kill a vending machine. Danny managed to talk the nurses out of calling security.

Frank stood silently and said nothing. But he grabbed Danny tightly and hugged him for a long time. Even the unspoken sympathy was painful.

Turk and Virgil swung from miserable to furious and back again endlessly. They were united. Even finished each other's sentences until they caught sight of the look on Danny's face.

Reuben came out looking several decades older. "We have to get that bastard," he whispered, his fist clenched against the wall. Danny just shrugged. He didn't much care. This had never been Hairmyres' plan. Never been Hairmyres' choice.

Saul went into the room and didn't come back. Eventually Danny followed. Saul was perched on the side of the bed. He had been crying, that was obvious, but now his face was calm and his hand was stroking through fair hair, and he was humming a tune that Danny couldn't place. Rusty was watching Saul's hand. He seemed content. But then, Danny really couldn't tell anymore. Danny settled himself, leaning against the wall, and watched.

After a while, Saul looked over at him and smiled, sadly. "What are you going to do?"

Danny met his gaze steadily. Like he even had to ask.

Saul sighed. "It's not going to be easy, Daniel," he warned, but his heart obviously wasn't in it.

"I never want him to be alone," Danny said quietly.

Only one of them had to face that. Only one of them deserved it.

* * *

Danny explained to the doctors that he wanted to take Rusty home as soon as possible. They explained that was impossible and started discussing the varieties of long term institutional care. Places that could apparently take good care of Rusty for the rest of his natural life. And Danny could hear the unspoken additions. Places that could take care of Rusty so Danny wouldn't have to. Places that could take care of Rusty so Danny could move on with his life.

He didn't bother trying to explain that his life had ended quite some time ago now. This wasn't life. This was . . . something else.

Quietly, he searched out a second opinion. And a third. And a fourth. Places and people that talked about rehabilitation. About fighting for every last scrap of improvement. Really he was looking for a miracle, but he'd settle for a good con.

* * *

It was a long time before Tess was able to bring herself to visit the hospital. She'd seen Danny when he came back after that first time. She'd seen his eyes, seen his misery, seen his defeat.

She'd held him close. He wouldn't look at her.

He talked from a very, very long way away. About when he and Rusty were young, about impossible times, impossible people, impossible adventures. She'd believed every word.

And then he'd told her that Rusty had gone and wasn't coming back, and she'd been so, so angry when she'd realised that he still didn't believe it.

She hid it as best she could, buried it deep with the rest of the guilt and the anger and the fear, and she held him and kissed him and tried to drive it all away.

He smiled at her then, and told her that everything would be okay.

Three weeks after Rusty woke up she walked into the little room in Danny's wake and she watched Danny talking brightly to a corpse and she saw the scars around Rusty's mouth and she saw the poker, and she saw his _hands_ and she saw the hammer, and she could see everything and Danny was talking about something to do with a hat and a bunch of balloons and she _couldn't stand it_.

Danny found her outside five minutes later, sitting on the stairs, her legs curled up to her chest. He held her and she cried and cried and cried.

He didn't ask her to visit again.

* * *

The first bad day came out of nowhere. Danny would never understand what triggered it. If anything.

Since he woke up, Rusty had always seemed content to stay where he was put. (_And that hurt. Of course it hurt._) That day was different, and it began when Rusty kept pushing away the story cards that the therapist was trying to get him interested in. That was new, and Danny was too busy trying to figure out if it was a good sign or not, to react when Rusty lashed out at the therapist. She hit the panic button and leapt backwards, and Danny swore and was moving even before he saw the terror and the confusion at the noise, and he was already standing, already rushing forwards, as Rusty lurched to his feet and tried to run on legs that couldn't hold him.

Danny caught him before he fell. But Rusty hit out desperate, terrified, and in the end they both fell to the floor, and Danny held him as safe as he could, and took the frightened, ineffectual punches, and watched, helplessly when the nurses rushed in with needles and drugs.

Afterwards he stood up. And the image that lingered the longest was when he turned round and saw Basher, standing in the doorway, and saw the look of horror and pity.

* * *

He told Tess his plan. She didn't object and she didn't ask why.

He quietly started changing names on medical records, inventing life histories, creating false IDs. As Vincent Ferrer. (_And_ _something about the name nagged at him_) he introduced himself to all the best doctors, told them all about his friend and about the accident. There was sympathy, and after he started talking money, there was guarded optimism and talk of restoring limited functionality, achieving the basic minimum of independent personal care.

It could be enough. It _could _be enough. Rusty would hate the idea of being helpless and dependent on anyone. But if it was just Danny then maybe Danny could convince himself that they – the 'they' they had been, DannyandRusty and all that meant – maybe he could convince himself that they could live with that.

The next time they were left alone for a few days he pulled all the strings he had and he, Rusty and Tess disappeared.

He knew that when the others realised what he'd done there'd be fear and there'd be fury. And it would be justified. And equally he knew they'd be able to track them down almost immediately; the transfer would be easy enough to follow, even if Rusty had changed names en route, and besides there were only so many places in the country that provided the best care for . . . for people in Rusty's condition. He could only hope that they understood enough to leave them be. To give them space. To let them fade away in peace.

* * *

Six months passed. It felt like so much longer.

For a while there were more bad days than good. For a while Danny walked around permanently bruised, as Rusty lashed out desperately at the one thing that hadn't changed.

Danny told him over and over again that he'd never leave.

On the coldest nights, he wondered if that wasn't the problem.

Gradually things improved. The good days (_the ones where Rusty was nothing, a blankness, an easily managed automaton_) became more common and the better days began.

The first time Danny heard Rusty try to speak – even though it was just a few words, even though he couldn't understand – it was one of the happiest moments he'd had in a very long time. And of course, it hurt more than he would have thought possible.

This is what they'd come to. This is what they'd lost.

That was the first time he didn't go home to Tess. The first time that he wasn't there to hold her when the nightmares came.

Instead he lay in the hotel room, the glass still clasped lightly in his hand, and he thought of thousands of nights of talking and laughter, of knowing and loving. He thought of thousands of nights and thousands more days that had burned brighter than anyone else ever knew. Thousands upon thousands. Years of the perfection and the joy and the endless. It wasn't worth it.

* * *

He trailed back to Tess in the morning, and he couldn't look at her, but she hugged him briefly and made him coffee and he found himself telling her that about the road-works he'd noticed on the drive home.

Tess started going out again. She wandered through shops and galleries and coffee houses and bookstores and she'd come home and tell Danny about her day, and he'd smile and ask polite questions and never ever mention the fact that at no time did she even suggest that she'd actually spoken to another human being.

* * *

Six months and they let Danny take Rusty home. Once they felt he was as far along as he was going to get. Once they'd taught him how to walk, how to chew and swallow, how to let someone know that he needed to use the restroom.

They gave him to Danny along with uncountable lessons and reminders and instructions, fifteen follow up appointments with various professionals within the first three weeks, and enough drugs to start his own pharmacy.

Apparently what Rusty needed – wanted – was peace and quiet and order. Clear instructions. A well defined routine.

Danny felt like screaming.

He sat, curled uncomfortably in the easy chair, and watched Rusty sleep in the bed with the impossibly high cot sides. He dreamed of better days.

* * *

Tess left at the first bad day and didn't come back until the next week.

She hadn't meant to. She'd promised herself that she'd see Danny through this, but she just hadn't been able to help.

She'd walked in on Danny, blood dripping from his lip, trying to get Rusty to come out from under the dining table. Rusty had been screaming. Over and over and over. High and keening and mindless.

Danny had looked round at her then, and she'd seen apology in his eyes, and resignation and endless, endless suffering, and she knew that this wasn't the first time, and she knew he wasn't expecting it to be the last, and she couldn't say anything, she just grabbed up the car keys and ran.

She drove for most of the day. By the time she hit the outskirts of the city, the sun was setting, and by the time she felt able to stop, it was night.

She checked into the hotel under the name of Raquel King.

It was the first good night's sleep she'd had in over a year.

Raquel didn't have nightmares.

Raquel had never watched her husband sacrifice his best friend for her, mind, body and soul.

Raquel could be happy.

She found herself sitting next to a man at breakfast the next day. He was older than her. Friendly, in a gratingly avuncular sort of way, and they fell into conversation.

The lies came easily. Raquel was in town on business. She was scouting out locations for a new branch office. Coral Marketing. They were really big, back East and looking to expand.

It was fun and it was easy, and she found herself telling him all about her husband, Monty, and his ineffectual attempts at DIY, and about the kids, Sue and Brian, who only answered to 'B' these days, and weren't they so funny at that age? He smiled, and told her all about his wife Peggy, and their grown son Jimmy, who ran his own IT firm and might be able to put some business her way, and it wasn't until he asked if he could have her card that she gasped and fled in confusion.

The lie had been easy. The lie had been fun. She phoned Danny.

"Where are you?" he demanded immediately, and she could hear the panic and the terror in his voice. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she assured him, instantly and infinitely remorseful. "I just had to get away for a while, that's all."

There was a long silence. "Are you coming back?" he asked finally, and she could hear how much effort he'd put in to sounding neutral.

She had to think about it though. She really did.

"I checked into the hotel under a false name," she began. "A different false name, I mean. Raquel King, not Tess Ferrer. And there was this man at breakfast . . . " she flushed, suddenly realising how that sounded. And it wasn't. It wasn't about that at all. "Not like that. We were just talking. He was telling me about his wife and kids, and I was telling him about Raquel's."

The silence stretched on for a very long time.

"It's like it's easier to be another person sometimes," she said eventually, reluctantly. "Can you understand that?"

"Yes," Danny said immediately and she blushed a little.

He didn't remind her that he didn't have that option anymore. She was grateful.

"I'm coming back," she assured, wearily. "Just not yet. A few more days."

"Thank you," he said quietly, and she hated it, because she didn't really have a choice. She could run, she could hide, but she couldn't change what had happened. She couldn't stop loving him. She couldn't stop needing him. Even now. They were trapped.

"How can you stand it?" she blurted out, before she could stop herself, and she bit into her lip and wished she'd never spoken.

There was a long, long silence. Finally Danny sighed, and she could see the smile that wasn't a smile. "He's mine, remember?"

She closed her eyes and choked back the sob as best she could. "I'll see you soon," she promised. "I love you."

She listened to him breathing for a few seconds, then she hung up the phone.

* * *

Danny stood staring at the phone and as he walked back to the lounge he realised he was shaking with relief. He'd been ten minutes away from calling everyone he'd ever met and demanding help.

But she was safe. And she was coming back. (_This time_.)

He glanced over to where Rusty was hunched over a large sheet of paper, a crayon grasped clumsily in his fist, doodling circles.

(_There should have been a pencil. There should have been vault plans. There should have been a wealth of amused smiles and an endless supply of easy grace. There wasn't_.)

"Want to watch a movie?" he suggested lightly. "We've got 'Notting Hill' or 'Grease'."

Rusty seemed to like watching movies, but mostly he seemed to be attracted by bright colours and lots of movement. Danny didn't mind as much as he'd have thought he would. 'On the Waterfront' had been on TV a few months back. He'd thought he was going to die.

There was no response. No acknowledgement he was in the room or in the world. Danny sighed. "Oh, come on," he complained. "You're not going to make me choose again, are you? You know how much I hate . . . choosing." The DVDs fell to the ground with a clatter. Rusty still didn't look up. Danny forced a smile regardless. "'Notting Hill'," he said quickly. "We can only watch it when Tess is out anyway. Which wouldn't be an issue if _someone _hadn't suggested I had a thing for Julia Roberts."

Danny gently took the crayon away and replaced it with an unwrapped Hershey bar. Then he settled down to watch the movie. "Think Tess is going to be away a lot more now," he said, after a moment. "Maybe we should get 'Pretty Woman', what do you think?" He looked round and sighed, and took a tissue and carefully leaned over and wiped the chocolate and drool off Rusty's face. "Yeah, you're right. Richard Gere. Maybe not."

The movie played. Danny sat and figured out how to get Tess as many false identities as she might want. So she could be whoever she wanted. Driver's licenses, passports, bank accounts. She could live a different life, when she needed to, and come back to him. He wouldn't mind. And if she chose not to come back . . . and if she chose not to come back, he'd never want to keep her here.

He ran a hand through Rusty's hair, absently. "You need a haircut," he said quietly. "Beginning to look like Hugh Grant."

Rusty said nothing. Danny played the conversation in his head anyway.

* * *

He stood in the doorway and watched Tess sitting beside Rusty, the photo album open on her knee. He listened to her voice, describing their wedding – their first wedding – pointing out Jillian, the matron of honour and telling him how she'd been so anxious to make Rusty's acquaintance at the rehearsal dinner, when all Rusty had been trying to do was convince Danny that turning round and suggesting to Tess that they just elope to Vegas was not the best start to a marriage. He smiled at that. He'd never known she'd known that's what he was thinking.

She looked up and smiled when he stepped further into the room. "I wanted him to know," she explained.

He could understand that. He knew it wasn't going to work, but he could understand that.

She looked back at the pictures. "We were so young, weren't we?" she said, more to herself than to either of them.

"Yes," Danny agreed, but he didn't know if it was just because he felt so old now.

There were tears in her eyes. They didn't fall. "And we were happy. All of us. You, me and him. We were happy, weren't we? Danny?"

He nodded. They had been. A thousand years ago, in another life, in another world, they had all been so very happy. "Yes."

She looked down again and her fingers traced across the photos. "The two happiest days of my life, Danny. I never . . . " She shook her head. "If I leave, I'll never stay away. I promise."

There was a tightness in his chest and he kissed the top of her head. She squeezed his hand and turned back to Rusty and the photos. "And that's my brother, Sam," she told him, pointing. "He made a couple of jokes about me the day before our second wedding, and, somehow, he lost his watch and his underwear playing cards. I always wondered what you did with them." She smiled back up at Danny. "He's looking, at least." She sounded hopeful and Danny didn't have the heart to tell her that Rusty had been watching her finger, not the photographs.

* * *

It hadn't been a bad day, that was the thing. It hadn't been a good day either; there had been the visit from the physiotherapist, and the resulting increase in the amount of pain that Rusty was having to deal with, and Danny couldn't help him, couldn't stop it, couldn't explain why it was happening, couldn't even share in it. And Rusty just didn't _have_ any way of dealing with it, and all there was, was anger and confusion, and Rusty had spent the rest of the day limping from room to room, moving round the house, as if he were trying to find someplace where it didn't hurt. And there'd been the constant mewling noises, and he wouldn't eat anything, and he wouldn't drink anything, and Danny had struggled so hard to get him to take his pills, and by the time night fell, Danny was completely exhausted and about ready to snap.

Rusty was lying on the floor on his back, his legs curled to the side. Danny would guess that maybe it was comfortable, or it eased the pain. As long as Rusty was happy, he didn't object. Though it was going to be hell trying to get him up again when bedtime came.

And it had been a while, a long while, but tonight he felt in need of a drink, and Rusty seemed to have settled, so he poured himself a whisky, collapsed onto the sofa with a contented sigh and closed his eyes.

There was a barely audible whimper. Fear. Not pain.

Danny's eyes snapped open.

Rusty was staring at him – focussed on him absolutely, for once – and he was shaking and there was terror in his eyes.

For a long moment Danny froze, not understanding. And then he looked at the drink and he looked at the sofa and he looked at himself and he felt like screaming, and he threw the glass away from him, as far as he could, and that was stupid, and Rusty struggled to his feet at the crash and ran towards the door, and Danny followed, useless soothing words falling urgently from his mouth, and Rusty threw himself at the door again and again and again, until Danny managed to get his arms round him, wrestle him away, because his forehead was bleeding.

Rusty struggled weakly in his arms, whimpering, and Danny held him tightly and shushed him and eventually he grew calmer.

Presently he became aware of the dampness and the acrid smell, and he looked down at the stain on the front of Rusty's pants, and he looked up at Rusty's face and there was pain and fear and bewilderment and shame and humiliation, and Danny's heart ached.

He brushed a kiss against Rusty's cheek. "Let's go get you cleaned up, okay?"

This was what they'd lost.

* * *

The doorbell was more than unexpected; it was terrifying. The battalion of medical professionals who had their address never visited unannounced, they were all far too caught up in the idea of Rusty needing a structured day to day routine.

Maybe it was the postman.

Maybe Tess had lost her key.

Maybe Halle Berry had broken down outside and wanted help.

_(Maybe Hairmyres had decided to finish what he started.)_

He glanced over at Rusty, slumped at the table, his head on his arm, crayon in his fist. "Ten bucks says it's Jehovah's Witnesses," he said lightly.

Rusty didn't stop drawing.

Danny sighed. "Okay, _I'll_ go check."

He stopped in the hall, made absolutely sure the door was closed, made absolutely certain that Rusty couldn't see, and took the gun from the hidden safe in the airing cupboard.

Just to be on the safe side.

He opened the door a fraction, ready for anything. He'd thought he was ready for anything.

Saul was standing on the doorstep. Looking at him, as though they'd seen each other only yesterday. "Good morning, Danny."

Danny stared for a long moment before he remembered himself and hid the gun behind his back and opened the door wide. "Saul. Come in, please," he managed. "It's good to see you," he added and was surprised to find it was true.

Saul followed him in and paused in the hallway. "It's good to see you too, Danny," he said warmly. "Now put that gun away and we'll talk."

Not flushing red took an effort of will, but Danny put the gun back in the safe and led Saul to the living room door before he paused and turned back. Saul looked eager and frightened all at once and Danny knew – had always known – that he'd been wrong to keep him at a distance.

"How is he," Saul whispered hoarsely.

Danny thought carefully. "Better than when you last saw him," he said honestly, and he sighed when Saul brightened. "Saul . . . " he warned, and Saul nodded.

"I'm not expecting . . . I'm not expecting _him._ Don't worry. But better is good."

"Better is better," Danny agreed and he opened the door. Rusty was exactly where he'd left him, unsurprisingly, and he didn't look up. "Rusty. Saul's here," Danny called. There was no reaction. Rusty carried on scrawling over the same lines on the sheet of paper.

Saul walked up slowly and Danny hung back. "I missed you, Rusty." And Saul's voice was gentle and warm. "I brought you something." He pulled a box of chocolates out of his bag, and he laid it gently on the table. Rusty glanced at it vacantly and put a hand out and rubbed at the foil.

"You're welcome," Saul said quietly.

"He'll appreciate it later. Sometimes he still likes sweet stuff." Danny laughed. "Drives the doctors crazy."

Saul nodded and Danny could see the weariness, and it made him angry.

"It is what it is, Saul. Nothing changes that."

"Is that why you left?" Saul asked quietly.

Caught off guard, Danny shrugged and cast a sideways look at Rusty. Saul nodded understandingly, and stroked Rusty's hair gently, and they sat down on the easy chairs at the other side of the room. Out of earshot. As if that were necessary.

"I couldn't take the way people looked at us," Danny admitted after a moment. "Everyone. Even you sometimes . . . "

"Pity." And Saul did understand, of course Saul understood. "You were never any good at admitting when you needed help."

"But we don't need help," Danny pointed out sharply. "I can take care of us."

"You can," Saul agreed surprisingly. "But there are a lot of people who'd like to talk to you, Danny. There are a lot of people who miss you."

"I'm sure there are a lot of people who miss Rusty, that doesn't mean they're going to get to talk to him again!"

Saul looked away politely and Danny concentrated on getting his breathing under control.

"I came by because I missed you," Saul said quietly "I miss both of you. You think you're the only one who never wants him to be alone? You think you're the only one who wants to stay, even though he's – "

" – broken?" Danny suggested bitterly, and Saul nodded.

"And I miss you, Danny. Everyone does. A phone call every now and then wouldn't kill you. Might even be good to talk."

"I talk to Tess," Danny said, and it wasn't quite a lie.

Saul carefully didn't ask.

"She's away right now," Danny explained anyway. "She goes away a lot."

"Yes," Saul said neutrally.

Danny felt compelled to defend. "She saw – "

" – the same things you did," Saul finished.

He paused. "It's not the same."

"No, it's not," Saul agreed.

He sighed and stared over at Rusty. Saul followed his gaze. "How much do you think he remembers?"

Danny shrugged. "Some. Bits and pieces. He knows he lost something." He saw Saul's stricken look and tried to think of something happier. "And like I said, sometimes he still likes the sweet stuff."

There was a look of incomprehension. And Danny suddenly realised that he really didn't want to have to explain this. He should have kept his mouth shut.

"The doctors don't think he can taste anything, Saul," he said quickly. "The burns to his mouth . . ." He shook his head. "He _remembers_ that he likes chocolate. And it makes him happy."

He tried to pretend that he didn't hear the sob and he gazed resolutely at Rusty until the burning in his eyes died away.

"Hairmyres and his boys met with a slight accident," Saul said in a low voice, and Danny turned to look at him and he realised that some sort of response was expected.

"Did it help?" he found himself wondering.

Saul suddenly looked so old. "No."

Danny nodded. Nothing would. Nothing ever could.

"But it had to be done," Saul went on. "And I think maybe it helped . . . some people."

He nodded again. "That's what you've all been doing?"

"Among other things," Saul replied and the pause was almost non existent, but it wasn't as if he'd forgotten everything he knew.

"What?"

Saul sighed and reached into his bag and pulled out a black folder and pushed it over to Danny.

"What?" Danny repeated and his voice was just that little bit harder.

"It's a stock portfolio. A hundred million across numerous investments. Reuben handled that part, don't ask me about it."

Danny made no move to take it. Wasn't going to take it.

Saul's frustration was obvious. "Danny, you've got expenses. Medical bills, and this house can't have come cheap. No-one wants you to have to worry about that."

He was patient. "We're fine, Saul. We don't need help."

"Take the damned money, Daniel." Saul snapped. "You think if it was someone else – you think if it was Turk and Virgil, you wouldn't have been the first to suggest . . . you and Rusty, you'd have _ended_ Hairmyres. You'd have made sure they had more than enough money to last the rest of their lives. And you'd never let them creep off to be forgotten. What makes you think anyone's willing to do any less for you? Take the damned money."

Danny blinked and he dropped his head and hesitantly he reached out and took the folder. "It's not Hairmyres', is it?"

Saul breathed in sharply and shook his head quickly. "No! I'd no more touch his money than you would."

Nodding in relief, Danny heard Rusty's cry of frustration and he was on his feet and moving even before he'd fully registered it. Rusty had taken to an interest in the chocolates but he couldn't get the box open. Danny smiled and started undoing the cellophane. "Sorry, Rus'." He could feel Saul's gaze and he shrugged and didn't look round. "Most of the time he doesn't want anything. So anytime he does, I try and get it for him as quick as possible."

"It's funny," Saul said, and Danny looked at the inside of the box and the little pockets with the sweets in them and knew that Rusty would never manage it. "It's easy to imagine that there's a part of him that's still in there, isn't it? Looking out at us."

"No!" Danny lied, a little too quickly, a little too harshly.

There was silence, and Danny took a selection of chocolates out of the box and laid them out in front of Rusty and watched him eat them with the barest hint of the pleasure he'd once have taken, and the idea of Rusty trapped and helpless in the midst of what he'd become was his worst nightmare.

"I'm sorry," Saul said quietly and Danny wasn't sure what he was apologising for.

When the chocolates were gone, he leaned forwards and wiped the stickiness off Rusty's face, and he planted a gentle kiss on his hair, and he turned back to Saul and pretended that he didn't see the tears.

"You staying for dinner?" he asked brightly.

It was what it was. But he wouldn't keep them away anymore, if they could stand it.

* * *

It had been a better day for more reasons than the normal. Rusty had been a little brighter than usual; a little more alert. Danny had spent half an hour talking to Reuben on the phone, and he'd found himself smiling twice, and almost meaning it. Tess had phoned and she'd enjoyed being Laurie Anders, which was good, and she was definitely coming back tomorrow, which was fantastic.

It had been a better day all round, and now it was later and there was popcorn and there was a movie which Rusty had chosen. 'The Wizard of Oz'. And much as the singing was disturbing, Danny had always had a sneaking liking for the flying monkeys. Rusty had once said that it was just because he admired the vision of anyone who'd look at a monkey and say "You know what? Those would look better with wings."

So he sat through the schmaltz and the singing and he didn't think once about the last time he'd seen this movie, the last time they'd seen this movie, in Albuquerque, after three days with a total of five broken ribs and a case of sixteen year old Scotch. Danny had tried to explain it as a political allegory. Rusty had tried to explain the dead munchkin. They'd ended up compromising and trying to synch it up to 'Dark Side of the Moon'. That had all gone now. (_So many memories that only he held_.)

The movie wound down, Judy Garland clicked her heels together and the colour drifted away and Rusty made a disappointed sound and leaned over and smashed his hand against the remote until the TV went blank.

Danny smiled lightly. "Exactly, who wants the real world anyway?"

For a second; for the tiniest second, he could _feel_ Rusty's understanding. He turned sharply. Rusty was looking at him and there was the suggestion of a smile, and a dim echo of old light in his eyes. "D'nny," he slurred happily and Danny felt a pain like a thousand knives tearing him apart from the inside.

Then the moment passed, the light faded, and there was nothing but the blankness.

"There's no place like home," Danny whispered and he wondered about living.

* * *

Rusty was looking at him. Or at least facing in his direction. Danny closed his eyes and kept on talking. " – and when the film was finished and we stepped outside it was snowing. A real blizzard. Guess there are reasons why you chose to live in California, right?" He smiled slightly and carried on and it was only then that he realised he hadn't left a pause for an answer. "And you turned to look at me and you . . . you smiled." (_Like sunshine, like the perfect score, like a new morning after the darkest night, like love that lasts forever and never ever dies_.) "At me. You smiled at me. And we just turned round and went back inside. Watched the whole thing over again. We were the only ones there. The usherette let us make our own popcorn. I didn't know you could fit that much butter on a single serving." He opened his eyes at last. Rusty hadn't moved. He gazed at Danny without the slightest flicker of interest. "You smiled at me," Danny whispered helplessly.

He cleared his throat and stared at the ceiling for a while. "Oh yeah. Did I tell you I figured out where the name came from? Vincent Ferrer I mean. Remember that movie of 'The Saint'? We watched it years back. It was terrible. You boycotted Val Kilmer until 'Kiss Kiss Bang Bang'. Said he should have stuck to playing volley ball with Tom Cruise. Anyway, one of the things . . . he only used aliases that were saints' names, remember? And every time he introduced himself he'd draw attention to it. 'My name is Andrew Sutch. I was named for a saint who played poker.' That kind of thing. Drove you mad. You kept insisting that he'd be better off just using his real name and being done with it. And you sulked when I pointed out that you've used a couple of suspicious aliases in our time. Including Simon Templar," He looked round. Rusty was still staring blankly ahead of him. His mouth was hanging open slightly and there was a line of drool hanging from the corner. Danny smiled, twistedly, bitterly. "Now you're just ignoring me because you know I won that argument."

Rusty didn't respond. Danny buried his face in his hands for a long moment. He looked up, slowly. "My name is Vincent Ferrer. I was named for a saint who betrayed his best friend."

There was no reaction. Of course.

"You know how awful that movie was?" Danny demanded suddenly, and his voice echoed loudly in the silence. "She was sick. She was really sick and then she was better. Healed by the power of positive thinking and true love. _Didn't I love you enough_?" He was shouting and Rusty didn't even blink.

There was a long, long silence.

"Don't I love you enough?" Danny asked softly. He slid slowly onto the floor and stared over at Rusty. "I'm sorry," he whispered, finally. "Oh, god, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry." He broke off, incoherent and sobbing. "I'm sorry, Rus', I'm so, so fucking sorry."

The tears came and didn't stop. He lay curled on the floor and cried and cried and cried, and Rusty watched him, incuriously, uncomprehendingly.

Tomorrow was a new day. Tomorrow nothing changed.

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

* * *

**Sorry. Would really appreciate knowing what you think though.**

**And InSilva? I already know what you think. And what's more, I told you not to read it again.**


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